


Vox Populi

by khh1961



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: (It definitely has a lot of sads), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Danger, Fear of Death, Gay Male Character, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Loss of Control, M/M, Major Character Injury, Military Jargon, Modern Era, Original Character(s), Slow Build, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, War, stay tuned for tag additions and deletions, work in progress so who the heck knows where this is going?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 10:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 36,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khh1961/pseuds/khh1961
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and a team from an agricultural NGO (non-government organization) have the chance to go on a humanitarian mission to Afghanistan to help farmers become self-sustaining. Of course Enjolras is going to say yes despite the hesitancy of his friends in les amis d'ABC. But there's one friend in particular who has a really bad feeling about this and doesn't want him to go at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Here We Are At The Start

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed the title from a song by 30 Seconds To Mars. The lyrics seemed wildly appropriate. I apologize in advance for any glaring geographical errors or inconsistencies. Also for switching willy-nilly between miles and kilometers, feet and meters, etc. And also for any gross oversights in military jargon, procedures or practices. My disclaimer is that I am a former Army National Guardsman (no, not THAT kind of National Guard!) I was a military police officer and also assisted with the training and preparation of hundreds of troops deploying to Afghanistan. I have never been there myself but have heard the stories from many of my close friends, seen some return with horrible injuries, and some not return at all. This is for them as well as for the fandom.

 

At first when Enjolras had been approached by the French Agricultural Ministry about joining a humanitarian mission to Afghanistan he was understandably a bit reluctant. The mission goal was to help farmers inoculate livestock to prevent the spread of common diseases and teach them how to replace their poppy fields with crops that would be environmentally and economically sustainable. Not only would this provide food security for themselves and their community, it would also free them from the control of the drug lords who take the poppies to produce opium. Enjolras was a senior team leader and legal advisor in a non-governmental organization (NGO) called FarmWatch, a group dedicated to helping farmers in developing nations by teaching environmental sustainability practices and helping them to become self-supporting. Enjolras had grown up in the south of France in a very wealthy family that owned a vineyard, as well as a few head of cattle. His father, Pierre, had very much desired that his only child should take over the wine business since the vineyard had been in their family for generations. Enjolras however had absolutely no desire to run a vineyard or even to stay that close to his family. He and his father had a fairly complicated relationship and couldn’t seem to see eye to eye on much of anything. Enjolras was an idealist, a boy with boundless passion for those things that mattered most to him. He left home to attend university in Paris, studying law, political science and global affairs. He was a student activist, organizing rallies, protests and other non-violent demonstrations geared toward equality, liberty, economic equity and social justice. He was an electrifying speaker, sparks flying from his angry blue eyes and every word charged with conviction. Words came as easily to him as breathing comes to most. He was eloquent, charismatic and his Adonis-like looks only added to his magnetic appeal. He had gathered together a small but fiercely devoted group of followers, mostly other students like himself, and formed a group called les Amis d’ABC Society, an activist organization that promoted peaceful protest for social change. Naturally his father was appalled and threatened to cut his son off from the family bank roll. Enjolras was unrepentant and strictly refused to take another nickel from his father as long as there were strings attached. He was his own man and he would make his own way in the world.

 

The more research he did into this humanitarian mission to Afghanistan and the more discussion he had with the other members of the FarmWatch team, the more intriguing the idea became. It would only be for six months and they would be based in the relative security of a multinational military base near the capital city of Kabul. They would work cooperatively with a small detachment of Americans, soldiers of the Army National Guard, who formed an agricultural development team (ADT) comprised mostly of soldiers who were farmers or ranchers in their civilian lives. Enjolras, being a dedicated pacifist and anti-war activist, balked at the idea of working cooperatively with the military forces. But he had the maturity and insight to understand that these citizen soldiers were doing a difficult job in a dangerous place but with peaceful intent. This was something he could readily understand, relate to and respect. Besides, truth be told, he was kind of glad for the idea that he and the other civilians on his team would be travelling and working in the company of some well-trained folks who knew how to handle themselves when the proverbial shit hit the fan.

 

When Enjolras broached the idea of this mission with the others at a weekly meeting of les Amis d’ABC they were less than enthralled, some much less so than others. Courfeyrac, one of his closest friends, and Marius, his oldest, both shouted (almost in unison) “HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND, E??!” (‘E’ was a nickname that had bestowed upon him by some school mates several years ago.) Combeferre, his very best friend, who was usually calmer and more rational than the others, simply shook his head in silent disapproval. ‘Ferre (as he was known to the group) had a way of communicating clearly with Enjolras without needing to say a word. Jehan, the romantic poet and resident hippie of the group made some comment about hugging soldiers and sticking daisies in rifle barrels, something completely lost on Enjolras. But it was the look of dark foreboding fear in Grantaire’s eyes that stirred Enjolras most deeply though the two men seemed to barely tolerate each other most of the time. Grantaire was the cynic, the skeptic, a talented artist, drunkard and self-appointed devil’s advocate, a devout non-believer in any cause or purpose. Grantaire (known to the group by his nicknames ‘Taire or ‘R’) desired only one thing from the world and that one thing was a bottomless glass. Grantaire believed in only one thing in the world and that one thing was Enjolras. He had been won over to the beautiful pale skinned, rose lipped, blonde haired student orator from practically the first time he’d ever seen him speaking. The power, the passion, the pure poetry that seemed to pour forth from the man, the fire in his steel blue eyes, the way the very sunlight seemed to form a halo around his blonde tresses made this man a study in pure artistry and ‘Taire couldn’t imagine ever growing weary of the sight. ‘Taire was reminded of Apollo Belvedere, Greek god of truth and light, whose sculpted marble beauty could never come close to rivaling this living version of the sun god.

 

Grantaire had joined les Amis d’ABC just after the group was formed, and only after he’d heard that this ‘Apollo’ was the organizer and group leader. Though he cared nothing for their causes or beliefs, he never missed an opportunity just to be present and bask in Apollo’s radiant warmth. And, of course, to play the role of devil’s advocate and foil to Enjolras every chance he got but especially when emboldened by the alcohol flowing through his veins, his ‘eau de vie’ as he called it. To Enjolras it seemed that Grantaire’s only real purpose for existing was to annoy, vex, heckle, mock and disparage him and his ideals. ‘E’ did his best to ignore the loud mouthed drunkard with the unkempt raven curls and deep sea-green eyes. He tried fixing him with his well-known wilting stare, the one that would’ve struck fear into the heart of any reasonable person. He even attempted to match him word for word, idea for idea until he realized that, beneath that loud and obnoxious exterior, laid a rather brilliant mind. In a battle of wits, the drunkard proved to be a truly worthy opponent. Enjolras found that ‘Taire’s arguments, however annoying, often made him re-think or think more deeply about an issue, sometimes re-shaping his whole approach to it. Grudgingly, ‘E’ was forced to admit (to himself at least) that the result of all this verbal fencing with ‘R’ made him a better speaker, maybe even a better man, more confident and ever more committed to his ideals. While the two men were utter opposites, still they both felt the same strong, unavoidable magnetic pull toward the other.

 

It became clear to the group that Enjolras had already made up his mind about the Afghan mission and everyone knew there was no point in trying to dissuade him. All they could do was offer him their respect and silent support even if they didn’t agree with his decision. So Enjolras and his team from FarmWatch were prepped, packed and ready to roll just two weeks later, heading off to catch their chartered flight from Paris to Kabul with all the supplies and gear they would need for their six month mission. Before he left for Charles de Gaulle airport early that bright April morning, ‘E’ had exchanged brief and typically stoic ‘a bientot’s’  with the boys, promising to text or Skype as soon as he was settled. They had all embraced him, placing a kiss on each cheek as was the French custom amongst good friends, though even this simple display of affection made ‘E’ uncomfortable, as did most any emotional type interaction.. When it had come to ‘Taire, however, the artist shunned the customary cheek kissing in favor of pulling Enjolras’ head gently toward him, pressing their foreheads together briefly as he whispered ‘Faire attention, mon cher ami’ while slipping something into the pocket of ‘E’s trademark red jacket. Both the gesture and the endearment caught Enjolras completely off guard. They had argued, sparred, bickered and disagreed but they had never been close, not the way ‘E’ was close with ‘Ferre or Courf or even Marius. Still there was that polar draw, the undeniable attraction both men felt yet neither was able to define nor even willing to acknowledge.

 

 


	2. Were You Ever A Dreamer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed the title from a song by 30 Seconds To Mars. The lyrics seemed wildly appropriate. I apologize in advance for any glaring geographical errors or inconsistencies. Also for switching willy-nilly between miles and kilometers, feet and meters, etc. And also for any gross oversights in military jargon, procedures or practices. My disclaimer is that I am a former Army National Guardsman (no, not THAT kind of National Guard!) I was a military police officer and also assisted with the training and preparation of hundreds of troops deploying to Afghanistan. I have never been there myself but have heard the stories from many of my close friends, seen some return with horrible injuries, and some not return at all. This is for them as well as for the fandom.I borrowed the title from a song by 30 Seconds To Mars. The lyrics seemed wildly appropriate. I apologize in advance for any glaring geographical errors or inconsistencies. Also for switching willy-nilly between miles and kilometers, feet and meters, etc. And also for any gross oversights in military jargon, procedures or practices. My disclaimer is that I am a former Army National Guardsman (no, not THAT kind of National Guard!) I was a military police officer and also assisted with the training and preparation of hundreds of troops deploying to Afghanistan. I have never been there myself but have heard the stories from many of my close friends, seen some return with horrible injuries, and some not return at all. This is for them as well as for the fandom.

 

The chartered flight arrived later that evening at Bagram Airfield, about 25 miles from Kabul, under a beautiful clear night sky, snowcapped peaks just visible in the distance.  The air in the mountainous high desert was cold and crisp and Enjolras shivered in his lightweight red jacket, suddenly wishing he hadn’t packed his warmer one so close to the bottom of his rucksack. He and his team all wore their required body armor stamped with a white cross and the letters NGO across the back. These were meant to protect their torsos (and the vital organs beneath) from bullets or flying shrapnel. The weight of the armor was an uncomfortable adjustment they would all need to make for the duration of their time in-country. Despite the understandable fears and concerns they all had about being in a potentially dangerous, possibly deadly place, they were anxious to get down to business as quickly as possible. They hoped the diversion of work would help to calm some of those fears. The team members from FarmWatch that had made this journey along with Enjolras were Philippe Morel (age 29), Henri Girard (age 26), Rene Lambeau (age 32) and Helene Simon (age 23). Each member had a specialty, an area of expertise ranging from irrigation systems design to animal husbandry, so each person would play a vital role in the overall success of this mission. And, like Enjolras, each had a profound desire to help people in developing nations to have a better quality of life and to know the pride and satisfaction of being self-supporting, able to provide for their loved ones and communities. In addition to being a legal advisor, Enjolras was something of a diplomat. He studied politics and global affairs, understood the importance of recognizing and respecting differences, especially in such an ancient tribal culture such as this one. The wrong word, the wrong gesture could literally trigger an international incident and he was committed to seeing that interactions went smoothly with the locals. He knew that not everyone they encountered would be thrilled to see them and so it was critical that they ‘tread lightly’ and recognize when their assistance was unwanted or unwelcomed. They had also been warned to be cautious even around ‘allies’ and helpers, that not everyone was necessarily what they appeared to be. After several years of activism and political ‘rabble rousing’, Enjolras had definitely had some personal experience in that area.

 

They were guided to their accommodations (such as they were) by their military liaison, a young sergeant on his third deployment to ‘The ‘Stan’. He was probably about the same age as Enjolras but looked much older, war weary and with an emptiness in his eyes. Their ‘hooch’ was a large canvas tent with a cement slab floor, single cots lining both sides, each with its own wall locker and a shower curtain rigged up around the cot for a measure of privacy. They were pleased to find the tent had electricity and both heat and air available for their comfort. They were shown to the showers and latrines which had been quite cleverly fashioned out of shipping containers. They discovered the sink rooms and laundry were also made from these converted shipping containers, obviously designed with an army “on the move” in mind. The last stop was the dining facility (or DFAC, as the young sergeant had called it) which was in a spacious canvas domed tent with high ceilings, two gleaming serving lines and seating for hundreds. The sergeant informed the team of the meal times for the next day, bid them good night and departed, leaving them to settle in to their quarters and get some much needed rest.

 

The following morning just as dawn was breaking the FarmWatch team met with their support crew as well as with the National Guard agricultural development team they would be working with most closely. The support teams consisted of an interpreter, driver, aide driver and gunner. The interpreter who spoke English, Pashto and Farsi was a young Afghan national called Hakim Mohammad. The driver of their up armored HMMWV (‘Humvee’) was Specialist Jeff James, called JJ by his buddies. The aide driver was Staff Sergeant Douglas Wilson and the gunner was Corporal Terri Davis, affectionately called ‘Red’ because of her flame colored hair. Each of these troopers were on their second or third deployment here and although they were all roughly the age of Enjolras and his ‘les amis’, each of them wore the look of those who had been somewhere far too long and seen far too much to ever be young again. The ADT team of soldiers consisted of 4 troopers: Specialist Sara Mendoza of Ames, Iowa was the large animal veterinary technician. Chief Warrant Officer Cooper J. Long was the irrigation systems expert, contracted out by several prominent vineyards back home in Napa Valley, California. Sergeant First Class Mason Collins of Topeka, Kansas was trained in sustainable farming techniques and crop rotation practices. Lieutenant Anderson Richards of El Paso, Texas was the group expert on what plants would survive best in the mountainous high desert where extremes of temperature and sandy, rocky soil were the biggest obstacles to successful crops. Their interpreter was Hakim’s older cousin Achmed, also fluent in English, Pashto and Farsi. Their driver was Corporal Smitty Williams, aide driver Sergeant Juanita Torres and gunner Specialist Daniel Cho.  A third Humvee made up the convoy carrying all the supplies and gear, food rations, water and fuel for the teams and an extra seat or two for any ‘overflow’ team members. The convoy would travel together, white crosses painted clearly on the sides and hoods of each Humvee to indicate they were on a humanitarian mission so as not to be mistaken for combatants. Everyone silently hoped that the message would be received.

 

For the next several days the team did not venture off base or ‘outside the wire’ as it was known in military parlance. Getting used to speaking in acronyms presented a new challenge to the French team who all spoke decent English. Now if they could just learn how to speak Army. There was so much to learn before they could get down to business, everything from local customs (tea first, talk second and **_never_** present your right hand for shaking) and greeting tribal elders (“As-salam alaykum” or “peace be upon you”) to the lay of the land and the proper protocols for everything. Though the FarmWatch team members would be unarmed due to the humanitarian nature of their mission, they still had to know what to do if they came under fire. If things got hot they were instructed to follow all the commands of their support team TO THE LETTER so as not to unnecessarily endanger those charged with their safety and security outside the confines of the base. They were taught how to identify IED’s which lined all the roads outside the wire and up into the hills. They were told that IED’s could be disguised and hidden by anything from rocks, mounds of dirt or cars to the carcasses of animals that littered the roadsides. Their training sergeant pointed out humorlessly that red wires protruding from a donkey’s ass were not normal, not even here in this godforsaken desert shithole. They were taught the Golden Rule of IED safety: “If it isn’t yours and you didn’t put it there, don’t fuck with it!” and then they got down to watching a bunch of cool videos of stuff exploding. They were taught how to protect the gunner in each of their vehicles should the convoy come under attack. The gunner was the most vulnerable member of the crew, protruding head, neck and shoulders from the gun turret. They were put through various simulators and then evaluated on their reactions and responses to small arms fire, rocket attack, IED explosions and vehicle rollover. It was a lot to absorb and the FarmWatch team felt a bit overwhelmed, realizing that each of these instructions could potentially save their lives or the lives of their teammates. ‘Situational awareness’ had become their new mantra.

 


	3. In The Far Away Land That Time Can't Change

 

Those early days passed quickly enough for Enjolras and the team as they acclimated to their new surroundings and to the rarefied air at 5000 feet. Though they were all relatively young and healthy, coming from France they were ‘flatlanders’ with elevations of no more than 100 feet above sea level in most places. Enjolras still enjoyed his morning run before breakfast and there was no shortage of folks to run with in those wee hours. Luckily for him the soldiers and airmen he ran with didn’t give him too hard of a time for sucking wind that first couple of weeks.  The FarmWatch team fell into the routine of base life and learned to keep pace with their military counterparts which meant an awful lot of ‘zero dark thirty’ wake ups. They would hear the rumble of Humvees coming back from the night patrols, the chatter of soldiers getting ready to go out for the daylight missions. On the day of their very first trip outside the wire, anxiety ran high amongst the team members and most of them skipped breakfast chow that morning. They rolled out past the main gate around 0530, geared up in body armor and Kevlar helmets, headed to a meeting with the village elders in Mehter Lam, about 190km from the base along the Kabul-Jalalabad Highway. A ‘normal’ car trip would take about 3 hours each way but the team was soon to discover that nothing about travelling with the Army was EVER normal and travelling in a carefully spaced convoy of Humvees across the rugged high desert was even less so.  Still the scenery was absolutely breathtaking and although they wanted to do the typical ‘touristy’ type things like taking pictures of the landscape and of each other, they remembered this was not a holiday and that ‘situational awareness’ was to be maintained 24/7. That first meeting went smoothly, no major cultural ‘faux pas’. The leaders were impressed that the female team members, Specialist Mendoza and Helene Simon, had even covered their heads out of respect for their cultural norms. After the traditional tea-drinking and small talk, the purpose of their presence there was explained well by Enjolras and translated by Hakim and Achmed and the villagers seemed eager for the team’s assistance with vaccinating their livestock. They agreed to get to work right after the meeting, visiting various homes and inoculating herds against common livestock illnesses such as Anthrax, BSE and Johne’s disease. It was a long day but very productive and they were tired but pleased overall as they returned 'home’ to the base. After the evening meal, Enjolras retired to his hooch to spend some time with his friends on Skype. They had been anxiously awaiting any news from their ‘fearless leader’ so everyone had gathered at the Café Musain for the Skype session. The boys all tried crowding the webcam on ‘Ferre’s laptop at once with hilarious results that made even Enjolras laugh. He was so glad to see their faces, hear their voices. He hadn’t realized till that moment how much he really missed them. Courf and Jehan were animated and entertaining, as usual. Combeferre wanted to know how Enjolras was holding up and Joly wanted to make sure that he still had plenty of hand sanitizer with him. ‘Taire hovered at the back of the pack, waiting for a quieter moment to say hello. Enjolras noticed that ‘Taire was clear eyed and surprisingly sober when he sat down in front of the webcam.

 

“So, how goes life in the cradle of civilization, fair Apollo? Have the swarthy natives received you well?”

 

“Amazingly, yes, so far at least” replied Enjolras, only slightly rolling his eyes at the use of the nickname he detested. “We’ve not had a lot of experience outside the wire yet but there’s reason to think we’ll be able to be productive in our mission.”

 

“Ah, ever the optimist, dear Enjolras! I admire your rose colored view even under your current, rather primitive circumstances!”

 

“It’s not that bad, Grantaire, really. But as alcohol is strictly forbidden here, you would probably hate it and flee at the earliest opportunity. Equally heartbreaking is the fact they don’t allow pork ramen…. Or Spam. So your nutritional sources would be pretty limited too.”

 

“You wound me Apollo! I have a very discerning palate. I am a Frenchman after all! Don’t get too accustomed to dining on that American swill. If you’ll permit me, I’ll take you for a proper dinner when you return to the modern world!”

 

Enjolras hesitated for a moment before replying. That last statement sounded oddly as if Grantaire had just asked him out on a date.

 

“Only if that means you’re paying”, Enjolras managed to respond with a small laugh.

 

“Mais oui! Chivalry isn’t completely dead, you know!” quipped Grantaire, smiling broadly. Then he leaned closer to the webcam, placed his palm against the screen and said quietly “Just get back here soon and safely please, mon cher?”

 

There was an earnestness in his tone, a softness in his eyes and a shyness in his smile that took Enjolras by complete surprise. All he could do was nod his agreement. The others came bouncing back into view to say goodnight to their leader, then the screen went dark and Enjolras was alone once again in the far away land that time can’t change.  

 

 

 


	4. Did You Ever Just Want To Surrender?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, back at the cafe'....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work in progress. A quick look at what's going on back home while Enjolras is off saving the world.

Back at home, the les Amis d’ABC were all just doing their best to keep up appearances in the absence of their fearless leader. Everyone recognized that it was Enjolras who was the glue that held their group together. So they tried to maintain the regular meeting schedule, organized and carried out the rallies, protests and tabling activities that had been in the works before Enjolras left for Afghanistan. Combeferre was naturally the ‘Enjolras stand-in’ so Courfeyrac became the stand-in for Combeferre. And Grantaire still sat alone in the corner, downing his bottles of wine but there was no sketching, no witty banter, no cynical remarks or debates. He simply didn’t have the heart for it without his ‘Apollo’ there. Everyone noticed the change. Courf and Jehan were concerned for ‘Taire, knowing that the raven haired artist wasn’t ‘too tightly wrapped’ to begin with. They (along with just about everyone else who wasn’t blind, oblivious or named Enjolras) also realized that there was more going on in Grantaire’s heart and mind when it came to their blonde leader than he cared to admit, that it wasn’t just Enjolras’ artistic figure and fine features that held ‘Taire’s interest. The question was whether he would admit to it if confronted or fly into a rage of angry denial. With ‘R’ either was likely, depending on the moment, and so far none of the Amis had garnered the courage to broach this delicate subject with him.

 

For his part, Grantaire was struggling mightily not to fall into the deep funk he felt hovering just out of sight. He had been uneasy about Enjolras’ mission since the very first time ‘E’ had brought it up with the boys. He couldn’t name the feeling exactly but it was ever present with him. He had been having trouble sleeping well since ‘E’ left, had had a few frightening dreams that usually involved things blowing up and his Apollo being wounded…or worse. He drank a little more heavily, especially before going to be, hoping that if he got just drunk enough his subconscious mind wouldn’t be able to function. So far it wasn’t working. Obviously the solution involved more alcohol.

 

One night after the usual meeting at the café (where he had downed 3 bottles of wine in just under 2 hours), ‘Taire went home with his heart still heavy and his mind still in a state of unease. He got out his worn leather-bound sketchbook and two more bottles of wine before crawling into bed. Uncorking the first bottle, he opened his sketchbook and looked back over the drawings he’d made of Enjolras at various meetings and rallies. Enjolras with fire in his eyes, Enjolras standing tall and proud addressing the people, Enjolras with the others gathered around him, all watching him with such reverence, Enjolras alone and deep in thought. Before ‘Taire knew it, the first bottle was empty so he uncorked the next one, took a few deep pulls of the sweet red liquid, waiting and wanting desperately for oblivion to overtake him. And so it did.

 

When ‘Taire failed to show up as promised at the café the next day around noon with the flyers he was designing for the Amis next rally, ‘Ferre and Courf became concerned. Their drunken cynic friend was many things but flaky wasn’t one of them. He may not have believed one bit in what the boys were doing, in their causes or their ideals, but if he said he was going to do something, he always came through for them…for Enjolras. Courf and ‘Ferre decided to go round and check on ‘Taire and called Joly to meet them at his flat, hoping they wouldn’t need the young medical student’s services but wanting him there just in case they did. There was no response to their knocking or ringing the bell so ‘Ferre dug out the spare key from its hiding place over the door frame and they let themselves in. All was silent. They headed to ‘Taire’s bedroom and opened the door quietly so as not to startle him. They found their friend face down in the middle of his bed, lying in a puddle of his own vomit, two empty bottles beside him and his sketchbook open on the floor. He was unconscious but still breathing. Joly and ‘Ferre lifted him up, dragged him to the bathroom and started running the shower. They sat him in the tub directly under the stream of cold water and waited to see if this would be enough to revive him. Joly went for the aromatic spirits of ammonia he kept in his medical bag while ‘Ferre stayed with Grantaire in the bathroom. Courf was attempting to clean up the mess in the bedroom, strip the soiled linens and make the bed up fresh.  Meanwhile, back in the bathroom, the cold water seemed to be having little effect on their friend so Joly broke open the smelling salts and held them under Grantaire’s nose. When Courfeyrac heard a loud and sudden “WHAT THE FUCK?!” from behind the closed bathroom door, he let out a huge sigh of relief, knowing that ‘Taire, however unwillingly, had rejoined the land of the living at last.

 

Once the boys had gotten ‘Taire up and out of the tub and into some clean dry clothes, they dragged him, still unsteady on his pins, out to the living room and set him down on the couch. Courf went to the kitchen to make some coffee and try to find something with some actual nutritional value in ‘Taire’s pantry. No one had any idea when he’d last eaten anything. ‘Ferre sat down next to Grantaire on the sofa and put an arm gently around the artist’s shoulders. ‘R’ had said very little throughout the shower and clothes changing ordeal. He was utterly mortified to know that his friends had found him in that condition and was too embarrassed to meet their eyes. He sat motionless beside ‘Ferre, hands folded in his lap, staring at the floor.

 

Combeferre spoke softly to him. “We’re all worried about you, ‘R’. You must remember that you are our friend and that we care deeply for you, no matter what. I know you’re probably not feeling too strong right now but if there’s anything you want to talk about, anything we can do for you, just know that we’re here.”  

 

‘Taire leaned his head against ‘Ferre’s shoulder, still saying nothing and keeping his gaze fixed to the floor.

 

Joly spoke next, his voice gentle but firm, “You’re very lucky we found you face down, ‘R’. If you’d been unconscious on your back and vomited like that you could have asphyxiated and died.”

 

Without looking up or raising his head, Grantaire said quietly “Maybe it would’ve been for the better that way.”

 

Surprised, ‘Ferre raised Grantaire’s chin with a finger, forcing the weary man to meet his eyes. “Is that what you wanted? Were you trying to die, ‘R’?”

 

‘Ferre’s voice was a mix of shock and anger though he tried desperately to keep any harshness or judgment out of his tone.

 

“I don’t know, ‘Ferre. I really just don’t know anymore.” Grantaire’s voice was barely audible, broken and full of pain, but there was an honesty in his response that chilled ‘Ferre to the bone.

“

Please…Talk to us, ‘Taire. What’s really going on?” Combeferre pulled his friend more tightly to him as he spoke.

 

Grantaire made no effort to resist the affectionate gesture but still kept his eyes glued to the floor.

 

Courfeyrac entered the living room at this point carrying a tray of coffee and sandwiches and placed it on the low table in front of the sofa. He disappeared again for a minute, then quickly returned to the living room holding something behind his back. Looking directly at ‘Taire, he smiled softly and with great fondness in his voice said, “I think I know the answer to that.”

 

At this, Grantaire looked up just as Courf produced the sketchbook he’d found lying open on the bedroom floor. Grantaire suddenly wrenched himself out of ‘Ferre’s grasp, flushed a deep shade of red, curled in on himself at the far end of the sofa, and with head in hands went back to staring at the floor, hoping desperately that somehow a hole might open up there and conveniently swallow him. Courf gently laid the open sketchbook on the table and sat down on the floor at Grantaire’s feet. Joly and Combeferre both looked at the pages displayed in front of them, took in the amazingly beautiful and detailed drawings of their leader, and exchanged silent, knowing glances amongst themselves.

 

It was Courf who spoke up next. “We already know, ‘R’. All of us have known for a while.”

 

Grantaire raised his head tentatively, looked slowly from one man to the next, saw only warmth and concern on the faces of his friends, not a trace of mockery or judgment.

 

“You really did? You knew?” he asked, almost disbelieving, not addressing the question to any one of them in particular.

 

Hoping to lighten the mood in the room, Courf slapped ‘Taire’s knee lightly, rolled his eyes and said laughingly “Well, DUH! We’re not all as oblivious as our fearless leader you know!”

 

Courf smiled at him warmly, reached up and gently patted his cheek. “It’s ok, ‘R’. I know it’s not easy for you but just try and open up to us a little more, that’s all. That whole ‘tortured artist’ persona isn’t gonna play well with us! Just don’t keep so much stuff bottled up inside, ok? Please?”

 

“Ohhhhh, Courf, please don’t say bottle” ‘Grantaire groaned, holding his throbbing head between still unsteady hands.

 

Courf laughed quietly and held a cup of black coffee up to his suffering friend’s lips. ‘Taire sipped the warm, comforting liquid, smiled gratefully at Courf, then leaned back against Combeferre’s strong shoulder and proceeded to fall peacefully asleep.


	5. This Is A Call To Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras decides to build a school in the middle of nowhere because if the future is to be educated, then we must educate the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter, but it's still a work in progress, much like its author! A slow build, I apologize. Chapter title is from the song Vox Populi (voice of the people) by 30 Seconds To Mars, a band of which I honestly know zilch about. But my fangirl daughter who is also a crazy mad E/R shipper like her mum assures me they are very cool... Must be so then!

 

Enjolras and the FarmWatch team were about three months into their mission when they visited a small town called Bamyan, about two and a half hours distance from Bagram Airbase. Bamyan lay along the old Silk Route and was very spartan, with no infrastructure, no electricity, no gas or water supplies and a very harsh climate. The farmers there were only able to grow wheat and barley along with a few native grains. When harsh weather destroyed the crops, which happened all too frequently, those farmers lucky enough to have livestock would herd them to Ghazni or Maidan to exchange for food. The team had gone out to Bamyan to see if there were other plots of land that could be farmed with the right kind of set up or some way to protect the crops already in the ground from the effects of severe weather. Enjolras had adapted to the sight of people living in such abject poverty, but Bamyan was hard even for him to take. So many of the beautiful old buildings had been destroyed by the Taliban. They’d been driven from this place but not much reconstruction was happening there. The team learned that this place had once had very strong connections to Buddhism though almost all traces of that history had been wiped out by the Taliban too. Their guide told them that Bamyan was translated as “The Place Of Shining Light.” Enjolras thought immediately of Grantaire and how he always referred to him as Apollo, god of sun, light and truth. Enjolras couldn’t help smiling to himself at the thought. 

While the team met with farmers from the village, a few dozen local children had gathered around, hovering at a respectful distance from the elders but waiting expectantly to see what gifts these strangers may have brought for them. They were fascinated by the many outsiders who came to, or simply passed through, their small town. Many times these visitors would have candy for them but pens and soccer balls were by far the best gifts. The children were especially fascinated by the many different kinds and colors of hair these strangers had and would sometimes reach out their tentative small hands to touch the visitors’ heads. This was a bit of a cultural no-no and the FarmWatch team had been advised not to touch the heads of any children they may encounter. If the children reached out to touch them, that was acceptable if they chose to permit it. Enjolras had noticed the children gathered nearby and inquired politely as to why they weren’t in school. Through Hakim, the interpreter, Enjolras found out that the only school building had been destroyed in heavy fighting between the Taliban and Hizb-i-Wahdat which was part of the anti-Taliban alliance. The children hadn’t had a school for over five years. There was simply no money to rebuild it. 

After they had wrapped up their discussion with the farmers, Enjolras assembled his team and the National Guardsmen’s ADT members for an impromptu meeting. Had any of the les Amis been there at that moment and seen the fire in his eyes, they would’ve known immediately that Enjolras had a plan, a plan that was no doubt going to involve them. And they also would’ve known that when Enjolras says jump, there’s only one correct response.

“We need to build a school here”, Enjolras said simply, as if the issue was completely obvious and the solution already decided upon. For emphasis, he gestured with his arm in the direction of the children and added, “For them.”

The youngest amongst the kids had never set foot in a school before and only knew of its existence through the stories their older siblings and friends told.

“The lack of a school here for this many children is simply unacceptable. How will this country ever be great again if they have no way to educate the future?” Enjolras asked, clearly having mounted his infamous soap box. “They need a school and we have the means to make that happen for them here and now. Who will help me give them back their future? None of you are under any obligation to do this, and I understand that your other duties must take priority. This project will be on a strictly volunteer basis.”

Not surprisingly, every single one of them raised their hand to participate. Enjolras just seemed to have that effect on people. He and Hakim returned to the group of village elders who were still sitting outside, drinking tea and smoking, and asked if he may have a word with them. They nodded their permission and Enjolras began to talk about his idea for building a new school. It would be a gift, he said, a lasting gift of friendship, and everyone would be welcome to help with the planning and construction. The elders were clearly taken aback by such a spontaneous and generous offer but said yes, they would accept this gift of friendship for the benefit of their children. Enjolras thanked them, shook hands all around, then joined the other team members who were clearly having a great time visiting with the kids. He got down on one knee to talk with some of them, digging in his pockets for the stash of candy he’d learned to always carry and for the few ‘spare’ pens he had managed to liberate from the ops center on base. One little girl, about 5 or 6 years old, with long dark hair and soft doe-like brown eyes, reached out to touch Enjolras’ blonde curls. She gently twirled the golden ringlets around her small fingers. When he smiled at her warmly, she smiled shyly back at him. And just for a fleeting moment he thought that his legendary heart of marble may actually have cracked open a tiny bit.


	6. Ever Imagine Heart Open And Free?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confession is good for the soul... really....it is!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies again for the painfully slow build to all the drama, angst, fluff, etc. (in other words, all the really GOOD stuff!) But I swear we're getting there. Thanks for staying tuned and hopefully you'll think it's all been worth it in the end.

Over the next five or six weekends, the FarmWatch team and the Agricultural Development Team of soldiers (and all their support team members!) journeyed out to Bamyan and spent Saturday and Sunday working on the construction of a two room schoolhouse for the village children. It seemed everyone in town wanted to help. Men and boys provided the manual labor and the women and girls kept the food and drinks flowing. The local men were awed, if a bit confused, by the women from FarmWatch and the Army Guard who worked alongside their male counterparts cutting boards, mixing cement and swinging hammers with equal power and enthusiasm. This was not something the local folks had ever really seen but they could see clearly the admiration for these strong women shining in their young daughters’ eyes. They all agreed that education was important for both boys and girls. The villagers had sent their girls to school here until the Taliban came storming in and put an end to any kind of life for girls, or women, outside of the home. Now the Talibs had been driven back and it was time for all the people of Bamyan to live in the modern world again.

Enjolras and his group were very proud of what they were achieving here. After the construction work was done for the day they would venture out to check on some of the farmers and ranchers in the outlying areas that they had been helping with irrigation problems, rotating fields or just to check up on the livestock they’d help inoculate. Though they were warmly received in Bamyan on every trip and treated like honored guests there, they were grateful to leave the ‘primitive’ conditions behind and return to the ‘civilization’ of the base with all its modern conveniences. Hot showers, decent bunks with clean linens, coffee and internet felt like ample reward for all their hard work. But the smiling kids and the grateful families in Bamyan were pretty priceless too. Enjolras tried to Skype with his Amis on Sunday nights, just to stay connected to the boys and to whatever was going on back at home. That tenuous bit of contact served as a lifeline for him. True, he had people from ‘home’ serving with him there, but his boys were his family and nothing could replace them in his life.

This particular Sunday night everyone was gathered at the Café for the weekly Skype session with their leader. Everyone, that is, except Grantaire. The absence didn’t escape Enjolras’ attention. ‘Taire had kept a pretty low profile since ‘Ferre and Courf had found him passed out drunk. He knew that they really cared for him and that there was absolutely no judgment on their part. Yet he felt mortified that they’d seen him in that condition AND that they had realized his not very well kept secret. His feelings for Enjolras were so deep and so strong. Having those feelings ‘revealed’ in that way made ‘Taire feel exposed and very vulnerable; he felt raw as if all his nerve endings were on the surface of his skin and even the breeze blowing across them was intensely painful. So he’d preferred staying at home, drawing and sketching, alone and safe.

Enjolras appeared on the screen before them, grainy and a bit echoy, but the boys didn’t care. They were just delighted to see him at all. ‘E’ told them all about the school and the villagers and about Lima, the little girl that played with his hair on every visit. He told them how excited he was to be bringing education to these kids, improving their futures by the simple act of building a schoolhouse. The boys could tell he was really quite enthused and proud of this project. They asked him about the terrain and traveling in a convoy with soldiers and if they’d encountered any hostiles or any roadside bombs. He told them they’d spotted a few IED’s in their travels but they had been able to call the Explosives Ordnance Disposal (EOD) team to come out and deal with the devices before anyone got hurt. As for ‘hostiles’, he said, it was hard to tell. There were no ‘front lines’ in this war and the good guys and bad guys looked pretty much the same. They’d been fortunate so far, and hoped that their good fortune would continue. The boys told him about the latest tabling event they’d had at Cultural Diversity Day and how well it had gone. Enjolras was proud of them all, stepping up in his absence, making sure the work got done. They told him about the amazing flyer ‘Taire had designed for the event and held one up so ‘E’ could see it.

“Brilliant!” Enjolras said. “’R’ did a fine job of it as usual, didn’t he!? Where is our artist tonight, by the way?” he asked, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible.

He could see some side long looks being exchanged between his two lieutenants and he felt his skin prickle a bit. “What is it, ‘Ferre? Is ‘Taire ok? What’s going on?”

‘Ferre and Courf signaled for the others to step away for a bit so they could speak more privately with Enjolras. Then they sat down and faced the webcam.

‘E’, there’s really no easy way to say this, especially with you being so far away and under such stressful conditions. But ‘R’ hasn’t been handling your absence too well, not well at all actually”, ‘Ferre tried to explain.

Courf cut in, “We found ‘Taire passed out drunk a couple of weeks ago, alone at home. He’d puked a lot of it up but we found him face down so he didn’t asphyxiate, thankfully!”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, that familiar look of disdain that crossed his features every time the subject of Grantaire’s drunkenness came up. “’Taire getting pissing drunk is nothing new. My absence is probably just his latest convenient excuse!” Enjolras practically spat. The anger in his voice was sharp and hard to miss. “Why should HE be falling apart at the seams?” he went on ranting. “He’s probably just annoyed that I’m not there for him to mock, debate and disagree with!! Besides, the rest of you are holding it together just fine it seems!”

“True” said ‘Ferre calmly. “But the rest of us aren’t in love with you.”

The stunned silence on the other end of the conversation seemed interminable. They watched Enjolras' face twist into a mass of confusion and….and what?.. Was that pain? ‘Ferre and Courf waited silently, the others watched curiously from the corner table.

“He’s what?” came the question, so softly they almost missed it. “How do you know? How can you be sure? That can’t be so.”

“It sure looks pretty definite on this end”, said Courf lightly but gently. "‘E’, when we found him, you know, like that, he had a sketchbook open, the one he always carries at the meetings but never lets anyone see.”

Enjolras nodded, remembering the ratty sketchbook ever present with their drunken artist friend.

“Didn’t you ever wonder what he was drawing and sketching at all our meetings?” Courf asked. “Why he was so secretive about it, sitting in the corner where no one would see?”

“I really hadn’t given it much thought, no.” said Enjolras honestly. “I’ve always just taken ‘Taire as a bit of an odd bird, you know, like most artists.”

‘Ferre, the plain speaker, stepped in again. “Almost all the drawings were of you, ‘E’. They were beautiful, so amazing and detailed. Brilliant, really. The kind of work that could only come from the hands and heart of someone who really loves you.”

There was a prolonged silence again as Enjolras, thousands of miles away, replayed the last Skype conversation he’d had with ‘Taire, the one where he though the cynical artist may have asked him out on a date. That exchange suddenly took on a whole new meaning in ‘E’’s mind. But still the silence was deafening.  Courf thought to himself, “Well this is going just bloody great!”

“Did he tell you this?” asked ‘E’. “Did he actually say those words to you?”

“Good grief, ‘E’, exclaimed Courf loudly. “He didn‘t bloody HAVE to say the words!! And if you weren’t so oblivious you would have noticed it back when the rest of us did!! How can someone so brilliant be so utterly clueless?! For god sake man, I do worry about you sometimes!”

Enjolras sat quietly, taken aback by the chastising he had just taken from his third in command. He knew his men well enough to know that whatever they told him was going to be the no-holds-barred truth. He had always valued that, had come to count on it. There were no toadies or sycophants in this lot. He knew he could absolutely trust any one of them with his very life.

“I knew” said ‘E’ quietly. “I’ve known for a while I think. I just didn’t know what to do. My work is always first, you boys know that. I don’t fancy anything that acts as a distraction from it. I just thought ‘R’ might get bored or impatient waiting for me to ‘get a clue’, maybe move on to someone that could give him the proper time and attention.”

“It’s not your time and attention he wants, ‘E’. It’s you. There is no one else for him. But he feels so unworthy of someone like you. You know how you hate it when he calls you ‘Apollo’, but he’s not being glib. He does put you on a pedestal, believes that you are beyond his reach. That no one like you would have even the time of day for someone like him. That’s why all this is so very painful for him, why he would’ve preferred death to anyone knowing his true feelings for you or to a life that didn’t have you in it.”

“Death?!?” Enjolras voice definitely increased in volume this time. “What do you mean, “preferred death”?!”

“Calm down, old friend” said ‘Ferre patiently. “He’s ok now. But he was in quite a bad way once we’d finally revived him. He was mortified that we’d found him in such appalling condition but even more so that we’d found his sketchbook, looked at the drawings and confronted him with his deepest secret. When we told him we were relieved that he hadn’t passed out face up and aspirated on his vomit, he said maybe it would’ve been for the best that way. We asked him if he had been TRYING to die. All he could say was he really wasn’t sure. We’d all noticed the change in him after you left, the sullenness and distancing himself from the group. He finally confided to Courf that he’d been having trouble sleeping, had terrifying dreams about you when he did sleep, so then tried staying awake to avoid the nightmares thinking somehow that that would keep them from coming true. He thought if he drank enough it might just help him to pass out, turn his subconscious mind off and just let him sleep. Joly has given him something to help with his nerves and the insomnia. He hasn’t been drinking much at all since then. But ‘E’, as your friend and someone who knows you quite well, I’m telling you that you need to talk with ‘Taire. You need to tell him that you know and that it’s ok. And you can hit me if I’m wrong about this, Enj, but you need to tell him that you love him too. Because if you’re being completely honest with yourself, you know it’s true. Heaven (and all the rest of us!) know this isn’t something you do well, this whole “heartfelt feelings” thing. But I think this is important, vitally important. For both of you. Promise me you will, ‘E’, and soon.”

When ‘Ferre delivers one of his famous heart to heart speeches, there is rarely any point in debating the issue or trying to prove him wrong somehow. And Enjolras knows this better than anyone since he’s usually the one on the receiving end of most of them. ‘E’ can’t understand why his brilliant friend is pursuing a medical career when he would make such a fine lawyer. Or an even better police inspector! After all, the man has a built in bullshit detector that's nearly foolproof.

‘Ferre’s voice cuts into ‘E’s musings. “Still waiting for your reply, oh fearless leader!”

“I will, ‘Ferre. I give you my word. I will. Please don’t shop this around as gossip amongst the boys, ok? I don’t want ‘R’ having any more to deal with just now. It’s enough that you and Courf know. You’re right; I am no good at this sort of thing. But ‘R’ needs to know how I feel, how I really feel. I wish it could wait till I got back home, but it doesn’t feel like it can. He does matter very much to me you know…” His voice trailed off a bit and smiling shyly, he looked away from the webcam.

“A bientot for now then, mon ami”, said Combeferre, satisfied that he’d gotten through to Enjolras’ stubborn marble brain.

‘A bientot, mon frère” said Enjolras. And with a last warm smile for his best friend, he clicked off the webcam and sat there for a while lost in his thoughts, just staring at the darkened screen.

 


	7. I Can Feel The Beating Of Our Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a whole bunch of stuff is percolating through Enjolras' amazing mind, including musings on the future, as well as life, death, love and art!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The closer it gets to creating the 'drama' in this story that we all know is coming, the harder it gets for me to write, particularly so in this next week and a half. Veterans Day here in the US is this Monday, a day to honor and remember all those who have worn the uniform, past and present. On the 16th of November 2011 my military police unit was in Afghanistan, three weeks away from their return home after a year long deployment as part of the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF). It had been a rough deployment, with multiple injuries, some permanent, and some very nasty firefights. That day one of our young troopers was exercising just outside the wire when he was hit by a mortar shell fired by an unseen enemy combatant and was killed. He was the only fatality of the deployment. He was 21 years old, the only child of a mother who'd raised him alone his whole life. I wasn't there with them, with my boys. I had been left at home with their blessing in order to tend to my sister, a single mom, who was going through breast cancer and to help care for her son, my mentally handicapped nephew who can't live independently. The guilt I had felt in letting them go without me was awful and for months I had been having nightmares about them getting blown up. I was the platoon medic, their Doc. I should have been there. But I was needed more at home.   
> Anyway, I'll do my best to get Chapter 8 out as soon as I can. Thank you so much for reading, for understanding and I'd really appreciate your feedback and encouragement...

 

 

The school was finally finished and the grand opening festivities lasted two full days. The crews from FarmWatch and the Army ADT were treated like absolute royalty throughout the celebration. Everyone turned out. Even several families from nearby villages were anxious to see what wonders these strangers had worked on behalf of their neighbors in Bamyan. Now that they had seen how fairly simple it was to raise such a structure with enough supplies and willing hands, even the neighboring village elders started to talk about building or rebuilding schoolhouses in their own villages, finally replacing those that the Taliban had just destroyed, obliterated or left unfit to occupy. The visitors had promised them ongoing aid in the form of building supplies even after they were gone. All the people had to do was supply the labor and work together. Enjolras even made the daring suggestion that they let their daughters lend a hand with the construction, not just feeding the men. He explained that it would help them to have a greater connection to and a deeper personal investment in their own education, and that these factors would help them to be successful, to stand more confidently as they take their place in the future and represent their people to the world. While this wasn’t received enthusiastically by everyone, at least it didn’t start an international incident, something one might expect to happen anywhere in the world Enjolras happened to be. 

Now with just a few weeks left in their mission, FarmWatch and the Army ADT team fell back into their ‘usual’ routine of leaving the base in the early morning hours, going out to the farmers and ranchers, following up on projects they’d implemented, writing up their final reports, surveying the land and the livestock, carefully logging both their successes and their failures. Upon their return to France, Enjolras and the FarmWatch team knew they would be expected to give a presentation on their work, to talk with other government leaders about their achievements and an overview of other missions similar to theirs as well as the potential for continuing with them through other non-governmental organizations even after the pending withdrawal of all the allied military forces. As usual Enjolras wanted to be sure he and the team had their “ducks in a row” before going into such presentations. He knew he would need to have plenty of facts and figures to support his arguments in favor of continuing such work not just in Afghanistan and neighboring Pakistan but in other undeveloped (or underdeveloped) countries with agrarian societies. His FarmWatch team members had come to realize that Enjolras had very high standards. They also understood the expectation that they would never be asked to work any harder than he himself did. (Not exactly a comforting thought when you were talking about Enjolras, the poster child for workaholism…)

They had all gathered in the dining hall to go over their notes and logs, talking, arguing and debating, working late into the night, drinking gallons of coffee and drawing some slightly annoyed looks from the mess sergeant and her crew. (Even soldier cooks need sleep apparently!) Enjolras couldn’t help but think of his boys, his Les Amis as he watched the talking and teasing, banter and debate taking place around him. Naturally he thought of Grantaire and how much he had come to miss their arguments and the verbal fencing that inevitably occurred every time they were together at the Musain for meetings; Grantaire, his razor sharp wit and that brilliant mind floating almost constantly in a shallow pool filled with cheap booze. Enjolras couldn’t help smiling to himself for just a moment, thinking about his ‘R’, his drunken cynic, his jaded disbeliever, his gifted artist. His….his what? He didn’t know yet, didn’t know for sure. Just his…

The teams arose the next morning before the sun once again to prepare for their daily trip outside the wire, suiting up in the now all too familiar protective gear. They couldn’t help noting that however beastly hot the temperature got, the Army ADT and all the support team soldiers never ever ‘downloaded’ any article of their protective gear at any time they when were outside the wire. However hot, however uncomfortable, heavy or cumbersome, each of those men and women knew that any single article of their protective equipment could make the difference between surviving an IED or RPG attack or not surviving it, literally between life and death.

As much of a realist, a revolutionary and committed agent of social change as he’d always been, Enjolras still hadn’t given much thought to death, his own or anyone else’s. Theoretically of course he understood it- natural cycle of life and all that. He had thought that there would be no more glorious death than to give his life for the cause of social justice or economic equity. He didn’t believe in an afterlife, in heaven or hell, nor did he believe in any cosmic power or deity. If he gave any thought at all to death it was that dead was dead and that was that. End of story. Mulch for the grass and food for the worms. This thought definitely did not disturb or distress him in any way. It simply was what it was. So having to fill out all their ‘pre-deployment’ paperwork had come as kind of a shock to Enjolras because it seemed that so much of it dealt with the prospect of death: Name your next of kin, list your emergency contacts, indicate your religious preferences, complete a power of attorney to make your healthcare decisions if you’re incapacitated, who should your life insurance policy money go to, list any tattoos or scars you have in case we need to identify you by something other than your face. (That last one was particularly disquieting to Enjolras who, while not a conceited person at all, knew that he was considered good looking and had often used those Adonis-like looks to charm his way in to or out of some rather tense situations.) He had lied on a few of the forms and said his parents were dead, listed Combeferre as his half-brother, also his healthcare agent, and the executor of his will, pitiful as it was. He left his life insurance money to the Amis to carry on his work on behalf of the people of France. He wanted no tombstone, no fancy burial. Give the money to the cause, every last penny of it. Let his death serve some higher purpose as he hoped his life would have…will have…will.

Usually the first one up and never much of a breakfast eater, Enjolras had decided to use the quiet of the early morning while his team was off at the dining hall to start organizing and repacking some of his gear, anticipating the end of their mission and the long awaited return home. He had never liked leaving anything till the last minute so he’d decided to fold some of his lesser used items and stow them toward the bottom of his rucksack. He was folding up the red jacket he’d been wearing the day they left France for Kabul when a neatly folded piece of paper fell out of one of the pockets and onto his cot. Not being able to even guess at what he might have filed away in his pockets on that chaotic day, he reached for the paper and unfolded it. His heart nearly stopped when he saw the drawing.

They were small vignettes really, more than just a single drawing. In the first panel, Grantaire and Enjolras stood on opposite sides of the Seine, a lovely sunny day on the left bank where Enjolras stood, a dismal and gray day on the right bank, Grantaire’s side. The sun seemed to be shining directly on Enjolras, the golden rays of light forming a kind of cosmic halo around his blonde head. While it was misting heavily on Grantaire’s side, plastering his dark curls flat to his head, still he stood smiling shyly across at Enjolras and reaching out, almost as if he were trying to pull some of that golden, radiant warmth toward him to wrap himself in. There was no bridge, no place shallow enough to ford, no barge, no ferry in sight, no way to close the gap between them.

In the next panel, Grantaire sat in the large open window of the upstairs room at Café Musain, the room where all the Amis gatherings took place. Night had fallen and he was alone there. A red banner fluttered from a flagpole affixed just outside that window, softly illuminated by the gas lamp that lit the café entrance just below. Grantaire held a single tall candle, its yellow flame flickering in the night breeze, his hand cupped protectively around it so as to keep it from being extinguished.

In the last panel, Grantaire stood at the foot of a tall mountain, holding something small and shiny in his outstretched hand, looking toward the mountaintop. Enjolras stood at the top, holding something small and shiny in his outstretched hand, reaching down toward the small figure with the curly dark hair. The artwork, the color, Enjolras thought, was simply stunning. He was pulled into the drawing, taking in every small detail.  He reached for a small magnifying glass in his kit he used for reading maps and looked more closely to see if he could make out what the shiny objects were. It looked like they had some kind of etching or script on them. He discovered on closer inspection that they were each halves of a heart, split brokenly down the middle, each bearing part of a message. The message could only be read completely when the two halves were joined together. Enjolras wrote out the words carefully at the bottom of the drawing. Together, this is what they said:

“You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.”  

Enjolras carefully refolded the drawing, held it against his chest, then sank onto his knees beside the bunk and began weeping silently. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote formed by the half hearts is by Jane Austen.


	8. Darkness Falls, Here Comes The Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Taire's nightmares are about to get very real. Well, we all knew we were gonna get here eventually, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, please please please leave comments! I really really appreciate the feedback and it helps motivate me on to the next chapter. So c'mon, help a sister out, will ya?! Thanks!

 

Grantaire had thus far avoided any further incidents with excess alcohol and was trying very hard to keep his drinking to the bare minimum he required to be functional. Still he kept a pretty low profile, stayed alone and at home a lot, reading, playing his guitar, drawing and thinking. Naturally he thought a lot about Enjolras, wondered how he was, what his experiences in such a strange and ancient place had really been like and would he be changed by them in any way. He wondered if Enjolras had seen the drawing yet and if so, what he thought about it. (He noticed that ‘E’ hadn’t mentioned it in any of their Skype conversations.) And of course he thought about the two of them, he and Enjolras, together, and wondered if that was a dream that could ever be realized. All the old, negative self-talk in his brain screamed “No you idiot! That is NEVER gonna happen cuz you’re just a worthless, drunken loser with no future and he’s a god… or pretty close to one anyway.” But the feeling deep inside him, deeper than just something in his heart (which had been wrong plenty of times before), more like in the depths of his soul somewhere, that feeling gave him a completely different message. It said that they were meant to be together, that they already belonged to each other and that time just hadn’t caught up with destiny yet. He didn’t understand this, didn’t know how such a thing could be possible. He just knew what he felt, what his soul told him was the truth and he wanted desperately to believe.

‘Ferre, Jehan and Courf had been trying desperately to get Grantaire to come and have lunch with them at the university (probably just their way of checking up on him, ‘Taire thought.) So far he’d been able to come up with some pretty solid excuses for not going but that supply was dwindling rapidly. Should he move on to the not-so-plausible ones? Or just suck it up and go have lunch with them? He was leaning heavily toward the not-so-plausible excuses when there was a knock on his apartment door. It startled him out of his reverie and annoyed him ever so slightly since he wasn’t really expecting anyone. He padded silently, barefoot, across the room, peeked slightly out through the curtain and saw Courf, Jehan and Combeferre all standing there on his doorstep. Sighing heavily he thought to himself “Guess those not-so-plausible excuses are gonna have to wait for a different day.” Then he opened the door to greet his three smiling friends and allowed himself to be dragged out for an afternoon of luncheon in the park and a lovely walk along the Seine. It was a beautiful early autumn day and the sun seemed to highlight the gold in the leaves of the trees that lined the riverbank. Gold, like his Apollo’s hair, and like the light that always seemed to surround him, emanate from him. But ‘Taire kept these thoughts to himself. The day didn’t end up being too much like torture and he was secretly grateful that his friends had shown up and also to know that they cared so much for him.

Back at home later that evening he sat on his bed sketching, listening to some music and sipping a cup of that god-awful valerian root herbal tea Jehan had brought over for him, promising him it would help with his insomnia. To ‘Taire, it smelled a lot like cow dung and it didn’t taste much better. But between this nasty-ass tea and the medicine Joly had given him to help with the anxiety and nightmares, he hoped maybe he’d get a solid, peaceful and dreamless night’s sleep one of these nights soon. But it seemed tonight was not going to be that night.  

_It was the same dream, always the same dream. Enjolras was riding with some soldiers in a desert tan colored Humvee, a white cross on the doors and roof.  They were going up a long narrow and precipitous mountain road. The soldier in the gun turret was swiveling in the sling seat, turning 360 degrees, constantly scanning the hills, looking for any sign of trouble. The two soldiers in the front seat were talking, bantering back and forth. The soldier in the rear seat next to Enjolras was quiet, staring sullenly at a picture of a young child- her daughter maybe? The Humvee behind them kept the recommended distance of 25 meters between them, standard for military vehicles moving in a close column convoy. Suddenly a sharp jolt, a flash of light so bright and intense, and the loudest sound Enjolras had ever heard. The whole vehicle seemed to rise off the ground, then crashed violently back to the earth, landing on its side in a crumpled heap. There was a terrible smell, like something burning, then the sound of screaming. Enjolras didn’t know if it was his own voice or someone else’s. Then all was blackness and silence._

Grantaire awoke with a terrible start and sat bolt upright in his bed, shaking all over. He could feel his heart pounding wildly everywhere at once. With eyes still tightly closed, he covered both ears with his hands trying hard to stop the noise that was torturing him- it wasn’t a pounding noise like a heartbeat, more of a ringing noise, like a phone. But all he had was a cellphone and it didn’t ring, it buzzed. He sat there trying hard to make sense of this noise, but really hoping it would just go away. Still holding his hands tightly over his ears, he rocked gently back and forth waiting for the pounding in his head and chest to subside.

Across town, Combeferre was suddenly startled awake by a loud, insistent ringing noise. He shot straight up in bed, his heart pounding as hearts are wont to do when one is awoken suddenly from a deep sleep. The ringing noise finally broke through his still sleep fogged brain and he reached out for the phone that sat on his bedside table. Though every single fiber of his being screamed at him not to answer it, he lifted the receiver and, in a tentative voice, said ‘Hello?’

“Hello, is this Monsieur Denys Combeferre?”

“Yes”, answered ‘Ferre, “this is he.”

“I apologize for the lateness of the hour, Monsieur but I’m calling about your half-brother, Jean-Luc Enjolras. I’m afraid the news I have to give you is not very good.”  

 


	9. In A Place Of Hearts And Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras emerges from hell.... but who's to say the road ahead will be any easier? And will the blonde Adonis feel so keenly about dying for a cause after this whole nightmarish experience?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will work for comments! But I'll take cookies too...

The first thing Enjolras became aware of after the blast that lifted the Humvee up and dropped it on its side was silence, a silence louder and more deafening than any silence he’d ever known. And stillness, too. He thought how odd it was that nothing was moving, not even air it seemed. He really felt quite calm though his rational mind told him this situation was very bad. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed as he laid there contemplating the strangeness of it all. Then he thought he heard voices, voices that were shouting and sounding very much panicked but they seemed to be coming from very far away. Enjolras tried to move his head. His body was still completely inside the damaged vehicle, but he wanted to try and see what was going on. He needed to assess the situation, figure out a plan of action. But nothing would move, not his head or neck, nor his arms. He couldn’t see his legs, or feel them. Nothing worked like it should have and nothing was where it should have been in this confused and jumbled chaos. Enjolras never cared much for disorder, not even now when he’d just been blown up by an IED. He thought that, since he was able to observe and contemplate his situation, he was probably not dead. This struck him as the first bit of good news in his more recent memory. Then he heard a male voice from somewhere inside the vehicle, though it was muffled sounding in his ears.

“Get back, fall back, and stay clear!” The voice was raspy and strained but the urgency in his words was clear.

Some other voices, further away, still shouting, seemed to be arguing with the male voice inside the Humvee who was yelling “No! We are NOT clear! Get EOD up here PRONTO and fall back now goddamnit, that’s an order!”

It filtered into Enjolras’ brain that the male voice belonged to Staff Sergeant Wilson, the aide driver and senior enlisted person in the vehicle. Enjolras understood the words now; everything started to make a bit more sense. No one could come to their aid. They had to wait for EOD to come and clear the area. The Taliban had developed a diabolical way to inflict greater numbers of casualties on these ‘infidels’. Let one of their IED’s do its dirty work, wait for help to arrive and flood the scene (as it always did), then either detonate another IED buried nearby or fire mortar rounds at the responders from a concealed place with a bird’s eye view of the road. These were some seriously depraved sons of bitches and anyone who’d had more than one go-round in this crazy ass rodeo knew they were capable of anything.

Staff Sergeant Wilson was trying to move also, trying hard to extricate himself from his position in the front of the vehicle (which on his side was now up in the air), trying valiantly to check on the people he was responsible for.

“JJ!” he yelled, then again, louder, “JJ!”

Wilson was calling out to the driver, Specialist Jeff James. There was a low moaning from JJ in response but no discernible words. Enjolras’ hearing was coming back on line and things were sounding much less fuzzy.

Enjolras called out to Wilson, “Sergeant, are you injured?”

“Is that you, Jean-Luc?” asked Wilson. “Are you ok? Can you see Red or Mendoza at all?”

Too many questions, Enjolras’ brain still wasn’t firing on all thrusters yet.

“I can’t see Red but I think Mendoza may be behind me. I’m not sure. Can’t really move. Are you hurt, Sergeant? Can you see JJ from where you are?”

Wilson replied, “Yeah, he’s alive but I think he’s hurt bad.”

Then Wilson spoke to Specialist James again. “Help is coming, JJ. You just hang on, buddy. They’ll be here any minute now. Hang in there.” Soft moaning was the only reply.

EOD had indeed arrived on the scene and were using their small remote controlled robots to probe for other devices in the area while teams of soldiers and military working dogs were pulling 360 degree security around the scene.  When the situation was deemed safe, the troops from the vehicle immediately behind rushed forward to help those in the crippled Humvee.

Corporal Williams, Sergeant Torres and Specialist Cho were there first. Torres climbed gently up to the passenger side of the vehicle, still partially in the air, moving carefully so as not to rock the Humvee in either direction. She tugged on the 500lb up armored door closest to Wilson. He was able to push on the door which was combat-locked from the inside while Torres pulled from the outside. She was light and small but strong as some men twice her size. Between them they got the vehicle door opened, creating an escape hatch. She helped pull Sergeant Wilson out, and then quickly, gently lowered herself to the ground so it was only Wilson’s weight maneuvering out the door and down the hood of the Humvee. He dropped to the ground, tried to stand up and regain his footing but found he was terribly dizzy and off balance. So all he could do was sit helplessly by while Torres went back up the hood to retrieve the next person. That’s when he spotted Red, Corporal Davis, the gunner.

Lieutenant Richards was there with her, brushing his hand gently over her eyes, pushing stray locks of red hair away from her battered and bloodied face. The blast had thrown her out of the gun turret and blown her Kevlar helmet off. Her head had impacted some sharp rocks on the roadside and she had died instantly of massive blunt force trauma.

Torres and Corporal Williams were working with the medics to extract JJ from the driver’s seat and Enjolras from the back seat, driver’s side. This was the side planted firmly against the ground. There was still no definite fix on Mendoza’s location or condition. JJ was lifted out first, barely conscious, gravely injured, but still alive. He would be rushed to a dust-off (a medevac helicopter) waiting nearby to evacuate the wounded to the closest field hospital/triage unit. Enjolras was lifted out next. He felt himself being moved carefully, hoisted up by strong hands, though all the faces around him were still a blur. He knew he was injured (he had yet to know just how badly) yet there was surprisingly little pain. Mostly he felt grateful to be alive. As he was lifted out of the crippled vehicle and into the bright sunlit day he felt it as almost a kind of rebirth, for he had been raised out of darkness and was now climbing to the light.


	10. This Is A Battle Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero faces the fight of his life... perhaps even a fight FOR his life. His friends start to gather forces, so he will not be fighting alone...

He opens his eyes slowly, only to find himself in yet another strange and unfamiliar environment. People in surgical masks hover over him and the glaring lights hurt his eyes. Though he can’t see their faces he can read the concern in their eyes. For the first time in this nightmarish situation Enjolras begins to feel afraid. A voice speaks to him, calls his name.

A woman’s voice, young, the accent is American, the voice gentle and kind. “Jean-Luc, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me, please?”

He squeezes the gloved hand, weakly, but he does it. “Good! Good job, Jean-Luc. That’s great. You’re in the hospital now. You’re safe. We’re going to take good care of you here, ok?”

He squeezes her hand again in acknowledgement. He doesn’t understand exactly what is going on, what’s wrong with him, why was he brought to this place or even how he got here. He remembers the blast, remembers seeing Sergeant Wilson, talking with him, and worrying about the others. He does not know where any of them are now, what has happened to them, or even if they are still alive. He tries hard to keep his eyes open, to see and hear what’s happening. He tries to find strength enough to ask the questions in his mind but he is tired, so very tired. The darkness covers his eyes and claims him once again.

Combeferre hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after the phone call that had startled him awake and then shaken him to his core. Grantaire hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after the nightmare either. It’s not like he’d never had that dream before. But there was something different about it this time, something that made it all seem so real. 

So ‘Ferre sat alone, still in shock, desperately trying to process what he’d been told, trying to imagine how he was going to break this news to the others: There had been an accident; the FarmWatch and Army ADT team’s convoy had hit an IED in the road just outside of Kabul. The vehicle Enjolras was riding in had taken the brunt of the blast. Most of his own team members were two or three vehicles behind and they were uninjured. But Enjolras’ vehicle suffered major damage and two of the soldiers riding in it had been killed- Corporal Davis and Specialist Mendoza. One soldier escaped with mostly minor injuries but another soldier was listed in critical condition. Enjolras’ condition was also listed as critical. He had no feeling from his mid-chest down, but that could be a temporary condition called traumatic paralysis. He had a concussion and possibly a closed head traumatic brain injury (TBI), but it was too early to know for sure. He suffered major trauma to his left side as he was pinned down in the vehicle. His left arm was badly mangled as was his left leg, especially below the knee. They were certain they could save his arm but they were not as hopeful about the leg. He was in a military field hospital at Bagram Airbase for now. He would likely be evacuated to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany once his condition was stabilized. They had promised to keep Combeferre posted on any new developments but this was all they knew for now.

Combeferre just sat there till dawn, dazed, replaying the phone call in his mind. He had managed only a few words on his end: “Yes. What? When? I understand. Ok. Thank you.”

By early morning he felt strong enough to call Courfeyrac and share the news with him. Together they would figure out how to tell the others, especially how they would tell Grantaire.

Courf answered the phone when it rang, his voice still groggy with sleep. “Bloody hell, Ferre! What the fuck are you doing awake at ass o’clock in the morning?”

The silence from ‘Ferre’s end brought Courf fully awake in short order. “What is it ‘Ferre? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Enjolras” answered ‘Ferre as steadily as he could manage. “There’s been an accident, an explosion. Enjolras is hurt, quite badly from the sound of it. Can you meet me at the Musain in a couple of hours? And don’t say anything to anyone else yet, ok? Please? Not even Jehan.”

Courf promised he would maintain silence, hung up the phone, then readied himself to meet ‘Ferre at the café. He had left the bedroom and closed the door when he got ‘Ferre’s call, not wanting to wake Jehan who was still sleeping soundly. Courf got into the shower and let the hot water cascade over him, soothing the tension in his body, but his mind was another story. He tried hard to make sense of what little ‘Ferre had been able to say. How could Enjolras be badly hurt? What was he doing near an explosion anyway? He’s just a civilian on a humanitarian mission to help farmers with crops and cows, right? How dangerous could that be? Courfeyrac went through the rest of his routine on autopilot. He put on a warm jacket and headed out the door, hoping Jehan wouldn’t wake up and want to know where his boyfriend was off to so stealthily and at this obscene hour.

‘Ferre was already at the café, two cups of coffee on the table, waiting for Courf’s arrival. When their eyes first met, each boy saw his own feelings reflected in the other’s face- shock, fear, disbelief… So it **_was_** real then, not just some terrible dream both boys wanted so badly to awake from. And that’s when the tears started to fall. They just sat together like this for a while, crying silently, occasionally grasping each other’s hand for comfort.

They were both startled when ‘Ferre’s phone started to ring. “Hello?” he said hesitantly.

“Denys Combeferre?” inquired the voice on the other end.

“Yes, this is he” replied ‘Ferre.

“Monsieur, we need your permission to operate on Monsieur Enjolras. He has designated you as his healthcare agent. Since he is at present incapacitated and cannot speak or sign his consent for surgery, we must ask you to give your consent for any and all surgical procedures or other medical interventions we may deem necessary. This could possibly include amputating your brother’s arm or leg. Do you give your consent?”

‘Ferre sat there, phone to his ear, stunned and silent, watching the same terror he was feeling creeping across Courfeyrac’s face. The voice in his ear spoke again, more insistently this time.

“Monsieur Combeferre, I’m very sorry for the difficulty this must be causing you. I do not mean to be rude but time is of the essence here. Your brother’s condition is critical and we need to operate on him as soon as possible. Will you give your consent?”

“Yes, yes of course” answered ‘Ferre. “Anything that will help to save him. Please monsieur, just save him.”

 “We will do our best, Denys. Thank you.” Then there was a click, the line went silent and Ferre put the phone back in his pocket.

Combeferre could see all the questions in Courf’s eyes and tried hard to gather his thoughts.

“They have to operate”, ‘Ferre started speaking, the words seemed to come out slowly and deliberately. “They needed my permission since ‘E’ isn’t able to speak for himself right now.”

Neither boy could even imagine a situation in which **_their_** Enjolras was unable to speak for himself.

‘Ferre went on. “He said they may have to amputate his left arm or left leg in order to save his life. I told them yes, just to do whatever it takes. Once they’re able to stabilize him he’ll be airlifted to Landstuhl, Germany and we can go to him there. It’s only 240 miles (385 km) from here, not even a day’s drive.”

Courf was letting all this information slowly percolate through his brain, nodding his silent understanding of ‘Ferre’s words. Only one question filtered its way through to his lips. “How will we tell Grantaire?”

The young soldier-medic who had spoken to Enjolras in the triage area was still beside him when he opened his eyes again in the surgical holding area. “Hello again, Jean-Luc!” she said brightly. “Are you able to hear me ok?”

He squeezed her hand, still too weak to form words.

“Ok, good. You’re going to have some surgery now, but you’re going to be ok. We’re doing everything we can to get you stabilized here so this operation is really important. Do you understand?”

Another weak squeeze from his hand in reply.

 “Is there a message you might want us to give to your family back home?”

Instantly she could see that this had sparked some sort of visceral reaction in her patient. Enjolras was working feverishly to form the words, something he needed desperately to say. The young medic leaned in close to try and hear him. His voice was incredibly weak, the words themselves scarcely audible. But his steel blue eyes were wide open as he spoke and the medic could see the depth of emotion, so pure and raw, behind his words.

“Tell ‘Taire I love him. Always have. Always will.”

She smiled and nodded her promise to deliver his message. Enjolras squeezed her hand once more, this time in gratitude. Then he closed his eyes again, a look of profound peacefulness on his bruised but still undeniably beautiful face. 


	11. Gather Soldiers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone gets the news. Not everyone handles it well..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long break in posting chapters. I hit a significant block last week and haven't been able to write a word until today. I realize it's being a really slow build to the 'good stuff' (the shippy stuff!) but this story has turned out to be a lot more in depth than I had originally planned on. It's not a bad thing, necessarily, but perhaps a bit frustrating for those following it to its (hopefully) happy resolution. I ask you to stay with me and I will try my best to make it worth your time!

It was decided that ‘Ferre and Courf would break the news about Enjolras to Grantaire together and privately, and that Courf would stay with him while ‘Ferre went to inform the others. They knew this conversation was going to be difficult at best and both boys were dreading it. They walked together from the Café to ‘Taire’s place, giving them some quiet time to prepare themselves. They knocked at his door, stood aside and waited. It was still early so they were both surprised when he answered so quickly and looked awake and relatively sober. ‘Taire saw their faces and knew immediately this was not a social call. The color drained from his usually ruddy cheeks.

“May we come in?” asked ‘Ferre.

Grantaire stood aside and permitted them entry to his small flat which always seemed to reek of a combination of stale alcohol and fresh paint. ‘Taire went to his sofa, sank down on it and waited. The boys noticed the cup of Irish coffee still steaming on the table in front of him, couldn’t help but notice from the smell that it was definitely more ‘Irish’ than ‘coffee’.                  

“Is it Enjolras?” asked Grantaire, hesitantly, not wanting to hear the answer.

“Yes” said ‘Ferre. “There’s been an accident, an explosion. Their convoy hit an IED.”

Grantaire blanched, his whole face becoming ashen with fear. “Is he…..is he….?” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

“No”, replied ‘Ferre quickly. “No. But he is badly injured. His condition is critical. He is probably in surgery right now. They may need to amputate part of his left arm or perhaps the left leg in order to stabilize his condition and save his life.”

As ‘Ferre was speaking (in the calmest and most even tone he could manage), Grantaire was sinking further into the sofa cushions, pulling his knees up to his chest, trying his best just to disappear, hoping he’d awake in his bed and that all this would be part of his earlier nightmare. Courf moved over to sit beside him, unsure if he should try to touch or hold the emotionally unpredictable artist. ‘Taire just rocked, tears spilling freely but silently from his sea green eyes.

He started talking to himself as he rocked, his voice quiet at first, saying things like “I knew this was a bad idea”, “I told him not to go”, “I told him to pay attention, to be careful.” Then he got louder.

“Didn’t I tell you this would happen? Didn’t I warn you not to go?” He began to hit the couch cushions with a balled fist for emphasis.

Courf moved carefully away to give him room. Then Grantaire exploded into a ranting, screaming whirlwind of pure raging fury.

“GODDAMN YOU APOLLO! YOU ARROGANT, SUPERIOR SONOFABITCH! WHY DIDN”T YOU JUST FUCKING LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE?!?!”

He crashed blindly around the room, pulling half-finished paintings off easels, knocking books off shelves, kicking chairs over. He grabbed a half-empty wine glass from the counter and smashed it against a wall and, before Courf or ‘Ferre could react, began slashing at himself with a jagged shard.

Courf sprang across the room, grabbed ‘Taire from behind, tried to restrain his arms while ‘Ferre did what he could to subdue him from the front, yelling “STOP IT ‘R’! STOP THIS RIGHT NOW! YOU’RE NOT GOING TO HELP ‘E’ BY ACTING THIS WAY!” 

At these last words, something clicked on in Grantaire’s brain and his body slowed enough for Courf to get the glass shard out of his hand and ease him down to the floor, still holding him tightly. ‘Ferre grabbed for some towels to press to the wounds Grantaire had already inflicted on himself, grateful they weren’t deeper or more numerous, while ‘Taire dissolved into a sobbing, shaking, utterly desolate mess. Courfeyrac held him close, rocked with him, and gently stroked the wild black curls on his friend’s head.

“Why did he go, Courf? Why? I told him not to go, I told him it was a bad idea. I don’t understand. What if he dies there? What if he dies alone and I never get to tell him how much I love him?” 

“Shhhh, ‘Taire….hush now… You’re going to see Enj again, you’re going to tell him in person how you feel. He is the strongest person we know, the bravest and most determined. You know our fearless leader will never just give up without trying his damnedest to get back home to us. We know him better than they do. They underestimate the fight in our fair Apollo!”

Grantaire stilled in Courf’s arms, allowed himself to be soothed by his friend’s words. He knew Courf was right. ‘E’ would never ever give up without doing everything in his power to return home to his beloved France, to his Amis, this family of friends. “And to me” Taire thought to himself, “Even to me.”

 

Combeferre faced the gathering of friends back at the Musain, weary and on the verge of his own meltdown. He had held it together well up to this point, knew he needed to do so just a bit longer. ‘E’ would be disappointed in him for anything less, ‘Ferre thought. And he knew that their leader would need the strength of everyone if he was going to survive this nightmare.

Bahorel, Feuilly, Joly, Jehan, Bossuet sat together, anxiously waiting to hear what ‘Ferre had called them here for, fearing the news they were about to receive wasn’t good at all. Jehan clutched Feuilly’s hand while Joly and Bossuet sat with their arms around each other.

“There’s been an accident in Afghanistan, an explosion”, ‘Ferre got right to the point, doing his best to ignore the audible gasps and looks of panic and sheer terror on the faces of his friends.

“Enjolras has been injured, badly. He is in critical condition at a field hospital in Kabul, probably undergoing surgery right now. He may lose part of his left arm and possibly the leg as well. When they are able to stabilize him he will be airlifted to a hospital in Germany and we will be able to go to him there. We don’t know any more at this time. I am being kept updated by the French liaison to the agricultural development team.”

Here he paused to breathe, calm himself, ready to face the onslaught of questions and outpouring of emotions he was sure would come. There was only stunned stillness, shock and disbelief, wide eyes and silent tears.

A quiet voice broke through the hush and asked, “Does Grantaire know yet?”

Jehan looked up at ‘Ferre through tear filled eyes, waiting for his answer. 

“Yes. Courf is there with him now.”

“Oh, ok. That’s good. He shouldn’t be alone.”

That was so typically Jehan, always worrying about the feelings of others.

This news seemed quite unfathomable to all the boys, on different levels. Enjolras was their rock, the glue that held them together. He was a force of nature and, to some of them, god-like. He seemed so indestructible. How could he be hovering near death? And death…Death.  That was another idea quite incomprehensible to them. There is a certain sense of immortality in the young, especially in young men. In the bravado of youth, they see themselves as 10 feet tall and bulletproof. What was happening to their leader now had just smashed that myth to bits.

Combeferre left the café and headed home, leaving the others to comfort each other or just to sit with their own private thoughts. He was beyond exhausted, drained of every ounce of energy, desperately needing sleep, dreading the next phone call. When he reached his flat, he collapsed fully clothed on his bed and slipped into a deep but restless sleep.


	12. Do You Want To Surrender?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras wakes up and the news is mostly good all the way around... Lots of relief and happy tears but the beginning of a long road to recovery for our fair Apollo!

 

The voices and the light all seemed far away and out of focus when he opened his eyes again. The young soldier-medic was beside him still, like some guardian angel in digital camo.

He heard his name being called again, the voice soft and familiar. “Jean-Luc?  Can you hear me? Wake up for me, Jean-Luc.”

He wanted to speak but discovered there was something in his throat, a breathing tube as it turned out. He tried to focus his eyes on the medic, to ask the questions in his mind. She could see it, took his hand and spoke soothingly to him as one would to a frightened child.

“You’re ok now, Jean-Luc. The surgery went very well. You shouldn’t try to move too much just yet though. They’ll take you to the Intensive Care Unit as soon as you’re awake enough. Your doctors will come and talk to you about everything then. Just rest now, ok? I’ll be right here.”

Enjolras was finally able to see clearly enough to read the name tag and rank patch on her uniform: Specialist Parrish. His camo clad angel finally had a name. Funny how it sounded just a little bit like home.

When he awoke again later, she was there as promised. He had no idea how much time had passed but they were getting ready to move him. He became aware that his left arm and left leg were heavily encased in plaster with metal rods protruding from them. Both were held aloft in what looked like some sort of device that would’ve been popular with the Spanish Inquisition. He was vaguely aware of being in pain for the first time, pain that felt heavy and oppressive. The breathing tube had been removed but Enjolras’ throat was still irritated and sore so speaking wasn’t comfortable yet. He looked up at Specialist Parrish, hoping she could once again read the questions in his eyes.

 “The pain will be intense for a little while because of the surgery”, she told him. “They were working on you quite a long time. There will be a machine beside your bed with a button you can push for pain medicine as you need it. It’s called a PCA. And your intensive care nurse will be with you 24/7 if the pain medicines aren’t enough and you need something else, ok?” 

He squeezed her hand and smiled up at her weakly, hoping she could still see the gratitude he felt for her reassurances, her comfort, and her calming presence. Her warm smile said she did.

Enjolras woke up again a bit later, this time in the ICU. He heard the beeping of machines coming from everywhere at once it seemed. He himself appeared to be attached to several of them. The machines monitored his heart rate, breathing, blood pressure and oxygen saturation rate. Another dispensed intravenous fluids and medicines. The PCA machine that Specialist Parrish had described was there too; a small button attached to a cord lay near his good hand. A nurse sat at a small desk in the entry to the private cubicle he was in. The heavy haze of medication and anesthesia still clouded his mind but the nurse’s dark curly hair startled Enjolras to a higher level of awareness for the first time in a while.

“’Taire? Is that you, ‘Taire? Where am I?”

The nurse stood up and came quickly to his bedside. “Shhh, you’re ok Jean-Luc. My name is Terrence, I’m your nurse. You’re in the Intensive Care Unit now. You’ve had some surgery but it all went well. You’re going to be ok. Just try to rest. I’ll be right here if you need anything, ok?”  Terrence was tall standing beside Enjolras’ bed, his dark curls protruding from the sea green scrub cap he wore.

 Enjolras looked up at him, still confused. “’Taire?”

“Is that a friend of yours, Jean-Luc? You’ve been saying the name over and over in your sleep.”

Enjolras nodded, smiling at the thought of his raven haired artist.

 “Funny”, Terrence said, “but at first I thought you were calling me but then I realized there was no way you would’ve known my name!” Terrence smiled down at him, trying to offer a bit of warmth and reassurance to the battered and confused boy in the bed.

“Specialist Parrish?” Enjolras asked. His voice, still weak and raspy, sounded strange to him.

“She had to get back to her duties”, Terrence replied, “but she wanted me to tell you she’ll come around to see you tomorrow after you’ve had some rest and woken up a bit more.”

Enjolras nodded again, managed a weak “thank you” and drifted back to sleep.

 

Alone at home, Combeferre answered his ringing cell phone with nothing but dread and fear in his heart. “Hello?”

 “Monsieur Combeferre?”

“Yes, this is he.”

 “Denys, this is Henri again, from the liaison office. Your brother is safely through the surgery. A small miracle has occurred, Denys, something miraculous indeed.”

‘Ferre’s heart rate increased to the point where he could hear it beating in his temples.

Henri went on, “There is a surgeon here from Sweden visiting the field hospital, a specialist in traumatic blast injuries. He and his colleagues have been developing new techniques to try and save limbs that have been severely injured in explosions. He just happened to be here and available to assist in your brother’s surgery. It was very, very complex, very, very lengthy. But Dr. Hoglund was able to save Monsieur Enjolras’ arm AND leg!!!”

Henri sounded like he was about to jump through the phone. ‘Ferre sank to his knees, grabbing the corner of a nearby table to steady himself, his brain nearly exploding with words and feelings all in a jumbled mess.

He managed to respond “That is miraculous news, Henri. Thank you so much for calling.” He put the phone on the table, laid on the floor in his living room and sobbed.

 

Courfeyrac had stayed the day with Grantaire. Together they cleaned up the mess ‘R’ had made in his earlier meltdown. Courf rechecked ‘Taire’s wounds, made them both something to eat, then they sat down to watch a mindless movie and wait for news of Enjolras. ‘Taire clung to his chestnut-haired friend tightly as to a life ring, fearful that, if he let go, he may drown in the deep sea of emotions still swirling around him. They both jumped when Courf’s phone rang.

“Hello?” Courf answered after he had regained his composure.

“Enjolras is through the surgery. He is awake and in Intensive Care now. A visiting trauma surgeon was there and assisted with his surgery. They were able to save both the arm and the leg. Not sure what level of use he’ll have with each just yet but they’re still attached. Tell ‘Taire that ‘E’s been asking for him.”

 “I will, and thanks”, Courf replied and hung up the phone.

Grantaire had had a death grip on Courf’s free hand throughout the brief call and it was already starting to go numb. Courf eased his hand away, placed both hands gently on ‘Taire’s trembling shoulders.

“’E’ is ok, ‘Taire’. He came through the surgery just fine. A visiting trauma surgeon was able to save both the arm and the leg but they’re not sure how well he’ll be able to use them just yet. But he’s alive, ‘R’. He’s still with us, just like I told you he would be. And apparently he’s been asking for you.”

Courf smiled fondly at ‘Taire as he made that last statement. He could actually see the life returning to Grantaire’s sea green eyes for the first time that day, the hint of a tentative smile slowly lighting his rugged face. This time the tears they both cried were tears of relief as they held each other tightly in a warm, prolonged embrace.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress not perfection.... which is a pretty bitter pill to swallow when you've so often been compared to a Greek God..

 

Each passing hour brought Enjolras back to a greater level of consciousness which was both good and not so good. On the plus side it meant he was getting stronger and fighting his way back to life, exactly as Courfeyrac had predicted. His vital signs stabilized, he was awake for longer periods of time and he was able to communicate with the doctors and caregivers who were a constant presence in the ICU.  Specialist Parrish (Amy, as she told ‘E’ she preferred to be called) came round to see him as often as her duties allowed. She was happy to see Enjolras progressing so well and making daily strides toward rejoining the land of the living. She saw plenty of battered and broken young people in the course of her daily work. Though many were able to recover physically, even from the gravest of injuries, she was painfully aware of the many others who never came back emotionally. In many ways she thought these were the saddest cases, especially in those so young, people whose lives had barely even begun. She herself was about the same age as Enjolras, in her early 20’s. This fact made it that much harder sometimes to work here among these wounded warriors, people who might well have been her schoolmates or childhood friends. Though Enjolras was not a wounded warrior in the military sense, still he had been injured in the cause of peace and Amy knew his journey back to life would be a war in its own right with many battles yet to be fought and won. He was a survivor now and, like every other survivor, he would have to find his way in this strange new world. But she could see the warrior spirit in him, even in his current state, and she knew how incredibly important that spirit would be in the days ahead when his recovery would feel like ‘one step forward, two steps back.’ She had also gathered from her conversations with his caregivers that he had several good friends back home who would no doubt be there for him, supporting and encouraging him. She gathered too that there may even be a ‘special someone’ waiting there, someone who had already given this gravely injured boy a reason to fight.

Of course there was still the down side to his increased level of alertness. He became keenly aware of his pain, heavy, oppressive and nearly constant pain. The PCA pump beside his bed helped somewhat and his doctors had prescribed heavier drugs which could be used for any ‘breakthrough’ pain between doses of medicine from the PCA.  The doctors explained to Enjolras how very badly damaged his leg had been, how fortunate it was that the visiting Swedish trauma surgeon had been able to assist in his surgery and save the leg from amputation. His arm was in better shape than the leg, they said, though no one could tell him for certain just how much use he may have of either in the long run. He knew they were right, knew how fortunate he really was to have survived the blast, to be here, to still have his limbs, to have his life. He had been informed that both Specialist Mendoza and Corporal Davis had been killed in the explosion and that their driver Specialist James, JJ, was critically injured and still in a coma. This news of course had been very hard and painful for Enjolras to hear. He had worked with these people every day for months and now they were gone. They had eaten together, traveled together, talked and joked together, shared their pictures of home and family, and accomplished some things they were all very proud of. Though they were soldiers and trained to fight, Enjolras thought of them as warriors who had fallen in a humanitarian cause, not for any purpose of vengeance or senseless turf war. They were true heroes in his mind, heroes who died in pursuit of a hopeful and more peaceful future for the children they’d met, the children who would be the future leaders and voices of their people. This was something that made sense in his mind, a purpose he could relate to, one for which he had the utmost respect. Yes, he knew in his heart he was one of the fortunate ones though he didn’t really feel all that lucky at the moment.

He had headaches, bad ones, and sometimes there was a ringing in his ears that just wouldn’t go away. His hearing seemed fuzzy sometimes, as if he were underwater. At times he struggled to find words, had trouble expressing himself. This combined with his lack of mobility and basic independence became increasingly frustrating for Enjolras and, finding no other suitable release, he began to have angry outbursts- yelling, cursing, throwing whatever he could get his hands on. He had never been a violent person, had always prided himself on being able to control and direct his anger when necessary. Besides the fact that these outbursts taxed what little physical strength he had, seeing this ‘new behavior’ in himself was deeply distressing. Terence, the dark haired nurse who had been there on ‘E’s first day in the ICU, assured him that this behavior was ‘normal under the circumstances’ and could be attributed to the concussion he’d received in the blast as well as to the trauma of the incident itself. The doctors told Enjolras he may have a closed head traumatic brain injury (TBI) but that the symptoms of such an injury may not manifest for weeks, even months. Enjolras tried to take comfort in Terence’s assurance but to his mind there was nothing about **_any_** of these ‘circumstances’ that felt anywhere **_near_** ‘normal.’ He still couldn’t move around a lot or do much for himself. He looked forward to visits from Specialist Parrish. He found it easy to talk with her, to tell her things he was hesitant to tell his caregivers or reluctant to share with anyone else. Enjolras of course had never really been keen on ‘talking about his feelings’ (or even acknowledging that he **_had_** them!) But with Parrish it was more like talking with a friend, like he might have talked with Combeferre if he was back at home. **_Home._** He wondered some days if he would ever get to go home again. He missed France. He missed Paris, missed his friends terribly. And he missed a certain raven haired artist, maybe a bit more than he cared to admit to himself. But he was so unsure of everything now, so full of fear, terrified of all the unknowns that lay in his path, that path which had always been so clearly delineated and fixed in his mind. He did not know what to do with all this doubt and uncertainty, both of which were completely alien concepts, absent from his frame of reference.

He was staring blankly out the window when Specialist Parrish dropped by to visit him one day just after lunch. She noticed he’d hardly touched the food on his meal tray.

“Not pleased with our fine American cuisine today, mon ami?” she said brightly as she pulled a chair up beside his bed.

 He flashed on a memory then, a conversation with ‘Taire over Skype, something about cuisine, the promise of a proper French dinner when he returned, a first date perhaps?

As if Amy could read his thoughts she said, “So tell me a little about ‘Taire.”

Enjolras turned from the window to face her, his blue eyes wide and cheeks flushed a furious shade of crimson. He tried to form a question, “How…?”

But Amy just smiled and said “You talk a lot in your sleep.”

“What other deep, dark secrets have I revealed?” he quipped dryly, quite pleased with himself at the quick-witted comeback.

“Nothing classified, so you’re ok there”, Amy replied, laughing. Then, more gently, she said “I can tell he must be someone special to you. Does he know?”  She waited patiently for his response, listening as he spoke haltingly.

“I don’t think he knows…maybe he does…I’ve tried to tell him… well maybe not really tried... I don’t know…We argue a lot.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing, Jean-Luc”, Amy replied. “Sometimes arguing is the only safe way we have to communicate with someone who puts us slightly off center. So arguing with him is familiar, even comfortable for you. It’s much safer than saying ‘I love you’ and allowing yourself to be vulnerable in that way. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess that you don’t do vulnerable very well.”

“Have you got some kind of secret dossier on me?” Enjolras asked her, one eyebrow arched slightly and again rather pleased with himself at the snappy retort.

Amy laughed, gave her long chestnut hair an exaggerated flip and said “Nah, it’s just a girl thing!” Then another question, again in a gentler voice. ”Does he feel the same?”

“I think so…Yeah, I think he might… I don’t know for sure... But I want him to know I do… at least I’m pretty sure I do… love him, I mean…I **_love_** him.. I think I must…but he doesn’t know and I need to tell him… don’t know how… but I need to, especially after all this… I may never get another chance... But what if... what if he… I mean, **_look at me!_** Why would he even **_look_** at me anymore? Why would he want to be with me like ** _this_**? Why would **_anyone_** want to be with me like this!?”

His voice grew louder, he became more agitated, more angry, more frustrated with the struggle to move, to sit, even to speak. Speaking had been his whole life, his one true love. He was well known as a gifted speaker, a fiery orator, a man whose words inspired, enthralled and impassioned total strangers. People came to their rallies back home just to listen to **_him_**. Now all he could do was stammer like an imbecile, fumble around for words as if language, once his lover, had suddenly, inexplicably become a stranger to him. Without warning he grabbed the metal lunch tray and flung it across the room, food going everywhere. Then he took the water glass and threw that, next grabbing for the water pitcher, punctuating every airborne missile with a loud, emphatic “FUCK THIS!” To her credit, Amy Parrish barely even flinched. She had seen this plenty of times, knew this patient had no intention of hurting her or himself. This happened so often in fact with patients who had suffered head injuries like Enjolras’ that it didn’t even faze the young medic anymore. She just took care to avoid the projectiles and gave him room to have his outburst.

When there was nothing left to throw, Enjolras collapsed back against the pillows completely spent, every ounce of energy gone into that Herculean effort, and now he was exhausted. That’s when the tears started, a silent, steady stream. Amy reached for him carefully, gently covered his good hand with her own and just waited. He laced his fingers with hers and held on. They sat together that way for a time while he wept quietly, wordlessly. When there were no more tears, Enjolras drifted off to sleep still holding Amy’s hand. Once she was certain her patient was asleep, she carefully let go of his hand and slipped silently out the door. Back in the hallway she continued on her rounds, a gentle but war weary shepherd tending lovingly to her young flock of battered, bruised and broken souls. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All roads lead to France... even if there's a pit stop in Germany first...

Grantaire felt that he may truly, actually and finally be losing his mind. While the bad dreams had finally ended, a new waking, living nightmare had begun. The days and hours since they’d been told about Enjolras’ accident were altogether a hazy blur of mixed emotions and, against his own better judgment, Grantaire had chosen not to medicate them with excessive amounts of alcohol. They were all taking the news pretty hard. ‘Taire had never seen Courf go so long without smiling or ‘Ferre so totally discombobulated. Jehan did his best to make everyone feel better, offering hugs and calming cups of herbal tea and surrounding them with fresh flowers for the aromatherapy benefits. They all understood that ‘E’ would need them, need their help and their support in his recovery. The unity of the group would help to hold him up on the bad days and be the safety net beneath him when he wasn’t strong enough to stand on his own. None of them could even begin to imagine **_their_** Enjolras needing a safety net.

Grantaire tried to stay busy painting, playing music, going to the gym with Bahorel to spar and release some tension that way. He drank a little but just enough to keep the PH balance in his bloodstream from getting too out of whack. He sat alone and thought a lot, so many thoughts and feelings competing for space in the forefront of his brain that he thought sure the buzzing sound must be audible.  Even before all this there had been so much there, palpable but as yet unspoken between he and Enjolras. Grantaire had tried, in his way, to let ‘E’ know how much he cared for him, how important he was in ‘Taire’s life. But the words never sounded quite right or seemed adequate or else the timing was all wrong or Grantaire was just plain terrified of having his heart shattered (again…) Enjolras was out of his league after all, ‘Taire knew; Well-bred, educated, sophisticated, brilliant, driven, passionate and so impossibly, achingly beautiful. Grantaire was none of these things. Grantaire saw himself as rough, poorly bred, crude, unsophisticated, unmotivated by anything but drink and the pleasures of the moment. And Grantaire was not beautiful. His nose was off center from one too many bar fights, his cheeks were ruddy, his face was craggy and usually covered with a days’ worth of stubble. His lips were chapped, his nails bitten and his hands rough and calloused from countless hours of holding a paint brush and palette. His raven curls were a constant mess, unkempt and falling into his eyes when he laughed too heartily. So why on earth would Enjolras, Apollo incarnate, even **_look_** in Grantaire’s direction? ‘Taire couldn’t imagine that his own true and loving heart, devoted soul and undying belief in Enjolras (if not everything he stood for) could ever be enough to capture the heart of that perfect, golden god. And how would this latest turn of events change things between them? Would there perhaps be a time for them now, time to be together or at least to explore the possibilities? Or would Enjolras be so changed by this experience that he wouldn’t feel connected to ‘Taire- to **_any_** of them- anymore? These were the thoughts that lately filled his days and haunted his nights. Grantaire felt, knew, somehow that he himself was incomplete and would remain thus until Enjolras returned, no matter his condition. He simply needed to be by his Apollo’s side. The rest would just have to sort itself out with time.

It was Terence, his ICU nurse that brought Enjolras the good news early one morning, four long weeks after he’d first opened his eyes here.

“You’re being airlifted to Landstuhl tomorrow morning, Jean-Luc! Your medical team thinks you’re stable enough to be moved now so the arrangements have been made.” “Besides,” Terence added, smiling, “we need these beds for really sick people.”

Enjolras was temporarily speechless, staring at Terence wide-eyed and disbelieving.

“It’s a sure thing, Jean-Luc” Terence said, seeing the doubt in the boy’s eyes. “You’re going to Germany. That way you’ll be much closer to home and your friends in France can come to visit you at Landstuhl.”

“France”, Enjolras whispered, slowly shaking his head side to side as if to clear his thoughts or be certain he was really awake.  He was still processing this information when his team of doctors arrived on their first morning rounds.

“I’m really going to Germany tomorrow?” Enjolras asked.

Yes, they told him, the airlift arrangements were made and he would leave Kabul tomorrow at 0530. Then they told him the rest, how exactly this transport would be accomplished. Because he was still not able to move much due to his damaged limbs and because he was still in some degree of pain almost constantly, they would putting him into a medically induced, light coma for the journey. This was meant to keep him stable, protect his still-healing injuries and prevent him from experiencing all the pain inherent with being jostled in transit. As anxious as ‘E’ was to put Kabul in his rearview mirror like yesterday, he was not at all keen on the idea of being put into a coma to do it, no matter how ‘light’. ‘E’ was never a big fan of any situation that required him to surrender complete control and this definitely fell into that category. Even though he’d been in pain nearly every minute since he’d first regained consciousness in the hospital, he knew that he was awake, aware, **_alive_**. This was something he wasn’t willing to surrender that easily. When Specialist Parrish came round to see him later that day and see how he was handling the news of his departure, she was surprised to find him in turmoil over the situation. Enjolras told her how he felt about the whole coma idea, his concerns about being rendered unconscious (even in a controlled environment) and how afraid he was that maybe this time he wouldn’t wake up again. She let him talk, listened patiently, gently rubbed slow circles on his good arm as she told him all she knew about the airlift process. The medical team was just concerned about turbulence and the effect that it might have on still fragile patients, she assured him. She explained that each medical airlift plane was like a flying hospital, equipped with a full medical staff and even an in-flight operating room. She told him that flight nurses monitored each patient for the duration of the trip. And she explained from a medical standpoint how much easier overall this method of transporting had proven to be on both the minds and bodies of seriously injured patients like himself. There was just no good reason to put the body through such unnecessary pain, not when it could be so easily avoided. Besides, she told him, he could fall asleep here with her holding his hand and wake up in Landstuhl with his friends beside him.

 “I bet ‘Taire will be there waiting for you”, she added with a knowing smile.

That proved to be the deciding factor for Enjolras; anything that would get him to where he could see his friends face to face and see his raven-haired cynic once again. How could he not be on board with that?

So it was decided then. Enjolras would be put into a light coma later that afternoon in preparation for the long trip to Germany. He had the chance to see most of the people who had cared for him here and thank them for all they’d done for him. He’d met with the rest of the FarmWatch team one more time and visited briefly with some of the soldiers from the Army ADT, wished them safe travels and exchanged emails with promises they would keep in touch once they were ‘back in the world.’ He spent a bit more quiet time with Amy, his camo clad guardian angel, then he was ready to let go and begin the next phase of his journey. When he opened his eyes again he would be closer to home and the new chapter in his life story waiting there to be written.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, back in France....

Chapter 15

Combeferre sat at his desk with the sealed envelope in hand, the one Enjolras had left with him just before he left for Afghanistan. ‘Ferre hadn’t wanted to know what was inside even though Enjolras had chosen him to handle things ‘just in case.’ Knowing Enjolras, everything was in meticulous order, his ‘final arrangements’ spelled out to spare his friends any guess work should there be a need. With Enjolras in the hospital and his condition so serious (but thankfully stable) ‘Ferre thought perhaps he should have a look at the contents of the envelope. He felt afraid though, as if opening it may have some negative effect on Enjolras. ‘Ferre was more rational than that, but this crisis had caused them all to behave a bit irrationally at one point or another. He opened the envelope, carefully removed all the documents and laid them out on his desk. There was a life insurance policy, a power of attorney for healthcare and financial matters (notarized, of course), a statement of Enjolras’ wishes regarding final disposition of his remains (cremation, nothing fancy) and a last will and testament. Combeferre was named as the one in charge of all of it. Any money left over after the final expenses was to go to Les Amis to carry on the work that had meant so much to him- to them- for so long. Every last penny he had was to go to the cause. Combeferre would have expected nothing less from Enjolras. Mixed in with the ominous paperwork, ‘Ferre noticed another smaller envelope, also sealed. It simply bore the initial ‘R’ in Enjolras’ small, neat script. ‘Ferre turned it over in his hands a few times, unsure if he should just keep it for now or give it to Grantaire. He hoped more than anything that whatever Enjolras had to say in the letter could be said in person, face to face, and soon. But he realized ‘E’ had a very long road ahead of him and anything was possible. Maybe ‘Taire needed to know.

They were all gathered at the café later that afternoon, everyone except Grantaire, talking about a tabling event coming up at the university for LGBT Awareness Month in October. Hard as it was to stay motivated without Enjolras there to lead them, still the work must go on and they were the foot soldiers, the front line troops. And so they were all there together, talking about flyers and signs and speeches (Marius or Courfeyrac were the go-to speakers if Enjolras wasn’t available) and whether they should make buttons or paint t-shirts with slogans on them. This was an area that ‘Taire usually enjoyed helping out with. He could get behind the artistic aspects of political activism. But he was absent today so the others had to step up and fill the creative void. The room fell utterly silent when ‘Ferre’s phone rang. They all heard the uncertainty in his voice as he answered

‘Hello?”

Monsieur Denys, is that you?”

“Yes, Henri. Is my brother ok?”  

“Yes, yes, Monsieur Enjolras is doing quite well. They are airlifting him to Germany in the morning, first thing. He will be at Landsthul Regional Medical Center by evening. You may come to see him there.”

Silence on ‘Ferre’s end while he processed this information.

“Monsieur Denys? Hello?”

“Sorry, Henri. Yes, that is wonderful, wonderful news. Thank you so much. Goodbye” 

Six anxious faces greeted him as he looked up from the phone. It seemed they had all temporarily stopped breathing too.

“He’s ok. He’s being moved to Germany tomorrow morning!”

One gigantic collective exhale was followed by laughter, slaps on the back, playful punches in the arm and other displays of relief one might expect from a group of young men.

“Someone needs to tell ‘Taire!”, Jehan managed to shout above the din.

“I’ll do it myself” said Combeferre. “About time I brought him some good news.”

After the meeting, Combeferre went back to his flat for a short rest, then tucked the letter for ‘R’ in his jacket pocket and headed across town to Grantaire’s place.

Grantaire crossed the room in two strides when he heard the knock, opened the door, and froze in place when he saw Combeferre standing there. ‘Ferre could see him trying to swallow the lump in his throat. Grantaire stepped aside to allow him entry, then stood there silently, waiting.

“He’s ok, ‘Taire. As a matter of face they’re airlifting him to Germany first thing in the morning tomorrow. He’ll be at Landstuhl by evening. We’ll be able to go and see him there.”

‘Ferre could see the relief in his friend’s features, a smile lighting his face slowly, the way the sun lights the sky at dawn.

“He’s ok. He’s ok.” Grantaire couldn’t manage much beyond that.

“Yes” Combeferre assured him, smiling, “he’s ok. They wouldn’t move him if they thought he wasn’t stable enough. Once we know he’s landed there and settled in, we can plan the trip to Landstuhl to see him.”

Grantaire stood there, smiling, just taking in this amazing news and turning it over in his mind.

“I wanted to give you this” ‘Ferre’s voice broke into this reverie. “I found it in an envelope of important papers that ‘E’ had left with me, you know, just in case.”

Grantaire shuddered involuntarily at the thought of how close ‘E’ had come to “just in case.”

‘Ferre handed him the sealed envelope, noticed ‘Taire’s hand was shaking a bit when he reached for it.

“Are you ok, ‘R’?” ‘Ferre asked, realizing they hadn’t seen him in several days, wondering if he’d been neglecting (or abusing) himself any more than usual.

“Yes, I’m fine ‘mother’” quipped Grantaire, giving his friend a friendly pat on the arm. “And thank you, for this” he said, indicating the letter. “And for the good news too.”

Combeferre just nodded and smiled, then headed back out the door, breathing easily for the first time in… he couldn’t recall when. His best friend was coming home, even if he **_was_** doing it in stages.

Grantaire sat on his bed with the letter still in his hands, staring at the red letter ‘R’ in the familiar handwriting. He brought the envelope up to his face and inhaled, the scent of Enjolras’ favorite cologne still on it. He smiled, then gently broke the seal and opened the letter.   

 

 

_Dearest ‘R’,_

_I guess it’s safe to assume that if you’re reading this then I only got a one way ticket to Afghanistan. I know you’ve hated the whole idea since I first brought it up to everyone. Now you’re probably sitting there with that smug smirk on your face saying “See, Apollo, didn’t I tell you this was a bad idea?”  I don’t know, maybe you’re right and it really is a bad idea. But you know me. If there’s a chance to make a real difference and to bring hope and self-sufficiency to people in need, I’m gonna be there. I suppose you could say it’s what I’m made for, what I’m destined to do. So I have to go. Everything after that is pretty much out of my hands._

_I know things haven’t always been easy between us, and I’ve been unkind and insensitive to you on many occasions. You just seem to know how to push my buttons and for whatever reason, I let you do it. You can be so infuriating sometimes. I can be too. (Don’t be so quick to agree with me there!)  But I’ve realized that fighting with you (debating, arguing, bickering, or whatever you want to call it) has always made me better in some way- a better speaker, a better thinker, a better man. You’ve always been the one I could count on to stand up to me, challenge me, tell me I’m wrong or just plain full of it. You’ve never failed me in that area and for that I thank you._

_You and I both know there’s a lot more to our relationship than that and we’ve both done an admirable job of dancing around it for some time now. So, time’s up. No more dancing. You know I’m no good with all this emotional stuff, naming my feelings and all that. Combeferre says he’s pretty sure I’d rather have all my wisdom teeth out at once with no anesthetic than even admit I HAVE feelings. He can be such a smartass sometimes too. But there are some things I do need to say to you, some things I really want you to know and I only wish I had the courage to say them to you face-to-face. Guess I won’t ever get that opportunity now. I feel like that’s my loss._

_I know I give you a hard time, R, but I want you to know what an amazing person I think you really are. You have such an incredible mind, a native intelligence and quick wit. I get so frustrated debating with you because I know I can’t defy the logic in your arguments or just BS you with my charisma. You’re too smart for that. And you’re talented too.  You may think I don’t know much about your art but I do. I’ve seen some of your work. It’s breathtaking, R, and brilliant. Someday you may even have your own gallery in the Louvre. But people should see your work, lots of people. They should see it and appreciate it because it’s simply amazing.  And the heart you have for your friends, the way you’re just there for whoever needs you without them ever having to ask, never judging or expecting anything in return._

_And the heart you have for me, ‘R’, the one you try so very hard not to show. But still it’s there. And when I’m not busy being a first class ass to you, I can feel it. I see it in the way you look at me sometimes when you think I’m not paying attention. It’s there when you look away from me quickly if our eyes meet for a moment too long. And in the way you hold your breath without realizing it whenever I stand close to you. And in the way there seems to be a current flowing between us sometimes when our hands brush against each other. I may have a better poker face than you, ‘R’, but please believe me when I tell you that I feel it too, all of it. And frankly it scares me right senseless. I’ve never felt anything quite like it before. I’ve never felt that way around anyone or about anyone…until you. I used to think that only France, the Patria, my causes could quicken my heartbeat that way. I got worried because I didn’t understand what it was, what was happening, or what it meant. When I finally talked to ‘Ferre about it he told me I was a clueless idiot. (No doubt you’d agree with him on this point...)_

_I don’t know how capable I’d ever be of showing my heart to you, ‘R’, but still I wish I’d had the courage and the time to try. I bet you could’ve taught me a lot about things like that, about love._

_I guess that’s what I’m really trying to say here, however incompetently. I love you, ‘Taire. I really do love you. I think maybe I have for some time now. I don’t know that I’d ever be very good at it though, or ever quite worthy of the true and loving heart you have…had… for me, and I regret that we won’t have the chance to find out… together. Please forgive me for not telling you these things sooner, when it really mattered. I hope one day that you will find someone special, someone truly worthy of the amazing man that you are, someone who can see and appreciate your many strengths and talents, someone who will help you to finally believe in yourself the way you've always believed in me. I really wish I could've been that someone for you._

_I hope that when the time is right and you do find him that you will share a lifetime of happiness together. You deserve nothing less than perfection._

_With deepest affection,_

_Your Apollo_


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trauma in flight... a bump in the road... a train ride... and other assorted travels....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short (and maybe not-so-sweet) but I strive to keep the fans happy!

‘Ferre wasn’t certain what he was expecting to hear when his phone rang again, the caller ID showing that it was Henri, the French ministry liaison. But he was pretty sure it wasn’t what he heard next.

“Monsieur Denys?”

“Yes. Hello, Henri? Is Enjolras in Germany now?” ‘Ferre could hardly keep the excitement out of his voice.

“Yes, yes. He is in Landstuhl at the hospital now. But there is a problem, Denys.”

A moment of stunned silence, then “What kind of problem, Henri? I thought he was stable?”

“He was very stable at the hospital in Kabul. They induced the light coma as planned and readied him for the air transport. All was well at this point. During the flight, though, he became unstable. They couldn’t regulate his breathing. His heartbeat became erratic. They briefly lost the pulse but were able to shock him back to regular rhythm again. They took him to the trauma unit as soon as they landed. His breathing and heart rate are stable now but his brain activity is abnormal and his comatose state has deepened. The doctors are uncertain what has caused this, perhaps a brain bleed or even a mild stroke. I’m very sorry, Denys. I wish this news was much better.”

‘Ferre felt as though someone had kicked him hard in the solar plexus. There was no air left in his lungs with which to form words; only a strangled sob escaped when he tried. After a prolonged silence he managed “I understand. Thank you” and hung up the phone. He felt very grateful at this moment to be alone, not to have his friends’ anxious faces looking to him for news, for answers or for comfort. He felt drained, as though upholding his own weight suddenly required too much effort and so he sank onto his living room sofa and stayed there, awake, unmoving until dawn.

Once again, Courf and Combeferre decided together that they would take this latest news to Grantaire in person. Thankfully, it went much better than the last time but still the artist was a desolate mess. This emotional roller coaster was wearing thin on even the strongest of them. It was decided they would make the trip to Landstuhl as soon as possible, hoping that maybe their presence there would give Enjolras the strength he needed to keep on fighting and to find his way back to them again. Jehan, Courf, Combeferre and Grantaire would make the journey by train, which was actually faster than driving there by a full hour. They would keep the others informed by text or email. Those left behind would see to the group’s activities that had already been planned. The work must go on. Enjolras would expect nothing less of them.

They made small talk but otherwise there wasn’t much conversation on the three and a half hour train trip from Paris to Landstuhl. Each boy seemed deeply lost in his own thoughts. Jehan fell asleep with his head in Courfeyrac’s lap while Courf leaned his head against the window and just stared at the scenery Combeferre tried to concentrate on the book he was reading but couldn’t seem to get past the page he’d been on when they left. Grantaire clutched the letter tightly in his hand, pressed against his chest as if somehow willing all the love in Enjolras’ words to enter his heart. There was so much he wanted to say to Enjolras, so many things he needed him to know too. Now all he could do was hope he might still have that chance, that time hadn’t run out for him, run out for _them…_

_How very strange, he thought... He could hear them talking, shouting orders, calling for equipment. He heard the urgency in their voices... Then suddenly he was looking down on himself, seeing himself as if from a great distance but he felt…nothing… No fear, no pain, nothing… He thought that, if this is death, it’s not so bad. And then just as suddenly, he felt himself being pulled back again…back to where… back to what? He didn’t know. But he knew he wasn’t supposed to be here yet, wherever ‘here’ was. There was still so much he needed to do. He just knew he had to go back_.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras gets visitors...

They had been sitting there in the waiting area outside of the ICU for what seemed like an eternity already, waiting for someone to come and talk to them, to bring them any news of Enjolras’ condition. At this point, though, they would have been happy to settle for some simple acknowledgement of their existence. Grantaire looked like he was about to implode. All the color seemed to have drained from his face and he was still clutching the letter from Enjolras in his hand. The profound lack of alcohol in his system wasn’t helping anything. He hadn’t wanted to be drunk or even to smell of booze when he first saw his Apollo, comatose or otherwise. But now he was seriously questioning the wisdom of that plan. Eyeing him cautiously, Combeferre was wondering too, wishing he’d thought to bring along a flask of something in his aide bag, just for ‘medicinal purposes.’

A nurse approached them at long last and they were all on their feet immediately.

“Are you here for Jean-Luc Enjolras?” he asked, addressing the question to no one in particular.

They were momentarily confused, forgetting that Enjolras actually had a first name since amongst themselves it was never used. 

“Yes”, answered ‘Ferre. “Can we see him now?”

 “Visitors to the ICU are restricted to family members only, I’m afraid. Are you related to the patient?”

“We are” answered Courfeyrac quickly. “He is our brother. We come from a very large family.”

The nurse eyed them all skeptically, noting the absolute lack of resemblance amongst them or to ‘the patient’ for that matter. But short of asking them to submit to DNA testing, there was no diplomatic way of calling ‘bullshit’ on their familial claim.

“Very well then”, said the nurse, “You may go in one at a time. He is still unconscious but otherwise his condition is stable. We are uncertain yet what has caused the change in his brain activity. The doctors are still running some tests. I would encourage you to talk to him about normal, everyday things. We believe that patients in comas can hear us talking even if they are unable to respond. Keep it positive but don’t stay too long.”

They nodded their understanding and ‘Ferre thanked him for the information. After the nurse departed, they looked to one another to see who would go in first. It seemed a new level of fear had gripped each of them as they stood frozen in the hallway, unsure what awaited them on the other side of that door.

“I’ll go”, said ‘Ferre. As the second-in-command and Enjolras’ closest friend, it made sense that he should go first. They boys had looked to him as a leader throughout this crisis, so once again he stepped up and bravely took the lead.

If it hadn’t been for the mess of golden curls splayed against the white pillow, ‘Ferre may not have recognized the boy in the bed as his oldest and dearest friend. Enjolras’ handsome face was still bruised and discolored, and covered with small lacerations in different stages of healing. His left arm and leg were each completely encased in stark white plaster with metal rods protruding from them, suspended from traction devices above the bed.  A breathing tube had been inserted during the airlift and was still in place. His good arm had an IV line hooked up to it. Machines were monitoring his vital signs, cardiac and brain activity, all of which were being observed by watchful eyes at computer display in the nurses’ station just down the hall. A few small electrode leads stuck out from his tousled hair, connected to yet another machine steadily measuring his brain activity. The silence was broken only by the intermittent beeping and whirring of the various machines.

‘Ferre suddenly felt very weak in the knees and needed to sit down. He grabbed the metal safety rail on the bed to steady himself, used his other hand to pull the hard plastic chair closer to the bedside. He sat heavily, unable to take his eyes off Enjolras’ face. Coming here, he hadn’t known what to expect but this…. This was something he couldn’t have even imagined.

“Oh, Enj. Look at you. What have those bastards done to you, my friend?” ‘Ferre whispered, shaking his head in silent anguish. But he remembered the nurse’s advice to ‘keep it positive’ so he shook himself out of this sad reflection and gently took his friend’s good hand in his.

“I’m here, Enj. We’re all here with you now. I know you can hear me so you better just shape up and snap out of this. We’ve got plenty of work still to do and we need you. I need you. I can’t lead this motley crew by myself. They’re quite the handful, you know. Makes me glad I don’t have kids…yet. You’ll make a good father someday, my friend. I just know you will.”

‘Ferre paused, brushed away the tears spilling silently down his cheeks. He wouldn’t want Enjolras to see him cry.

“Well, I better give someone else a turn before they all start fussing in the hallway and we get thrown out of here for disturbing the peace. But I won’t be far, Enj. Promise. And I’ll be back in to see you again soon.”

‘Ferre leaned down and kissed his friend once on each cheek before he left the room, said a quiet ‘A bientot, mon ami’, then returned to the waiting area to bring the others up to date.

They knew immediately when they saw his tear-stained face that it was probably worse than any of them had imagined, as if that were even possible. No one jumped up to be next. Grantaire seemed anchored to the plastic chair he’d occupied since they got there, the same stricken look on his ashen face, the letter from Enjolras still in his hands as if it were glued there and was now a permanent part of him. In a way it was. The words written on that page had been seared into his soul from the moment he read them. He suddenly wondered about the drawing he had slipped into Enjolras’ jacket pocket the day he left, that day that seemed like forever ago now, wondered if ‘E’ had seen it, if he’d understood the message etched so deeply into each image. He wondered if they would ever have a chance to talk about any of this, if they would ever talk again about anything. That thought was simply too awful, too painful to contemplate. ‘Taire cradled his head between his hands, rocking slowly back and forth, trying hard to shake it loose from his mind.

Courf said, “I’ll go next” and before he could change his mind he was up and through the door to Enjolras’ room.

He froze halfway across the floor, faced with the same shock and disbelief that had greeted Combeferre. Could this bruised and battered person really be their Enjolras, that force of nature they all knew and loved, their fearless leader, their rock? How had he come to be in this bad of condition? After all, he was just there to help farmers with crops and livestock and, yeah, maybe build a school for some poor village kids. But the body in that bed looked more like a combat veteran, like those images they saw on television back home when their wounded troopers arrived back in France from a stint in one or the other of those desert shitholes. This didn’t make any sense in Courf’s mind, although it was hard to deny those darn golden curls. He closed the remaining distance between himself and the boy in the bed, searched the face for familiar features under all those bruises. The tousled hair, the slight cleft in the strong chin, they sure **_looked_** like Enjolras’. Then Courf’s eyes fell to the right hand resting against the boy’s side. Courf knew those hands anywhere. He had watched Enjolras speak enough times, watched him gesture enthusiastically with those hands, punch the air to emphasize his points, seen those fists shake in righteous anger. There was no doubt left. This was their Enjolras, or what was left of him. A strangled sob escaped from his throat before he could stop it and it seemed to echo endlessly in the incredible silence of this room.

 “I’m sorry, ‘E’, he whispered. “ I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s just, well… I don’t... You aren’t looking quite like yourself right now.”

Courf lowered himself into the hard plastic chair beside the bed, held Enjolras’ right hand in his own, just as ‘Ferre had done. That hand still felt strong and this gave Courf some hope. When he spoke again, it was more positive, more confident.

“They told us you could wake up any time now and be totally ok, which would be really great. We can’t wait for you to get back home again, Enj. There’s just so much going on! The LGBT students and allies have been pushing the university administration for recognition of same sex employees on the faculty and staff, you know, getting them the same benefits that married straight employees have. And they actually included one or two of our gay boys in the homecoming court this month! But there’s so much still to be done, Enj. We really need you. Please, please wake up.” He squeezed his friend’s hand, tried to keep his own voice from breaking. He sat quietly for a while, rubbing gentle circles on the back of ‘E’s hand with his thumb, hoping somehow the contact would break through to, to wherever Enjolras was. Then he kissed his friend on the forehead and slipped quietly out of the room.

Grantaire still seemed frozen to the chair in the waiting area. He looked to Courf, then to Jehan with an almost pleading look that said, in so many words ‘I’m just not ready… Please go next.’ And so Jehan did, carrying a book of poetry and some flowers he had bought from a stand near the train station. He went resolutely, ready to face whatever was on the other side of that door, determined to bring lightness and positivity or whatever else was needed to get their Enjolras back.  Jehan crossed the floor to the bedside, never taking his eyes off Enjolras’ face, stifling his shock as best he could and speaking brightly to him as he arranged the flowers in a plastic vase on the bedside table, then sat down in the hard plastic chair beside the bed.

“Hi Enj! Bet you were surprised to get all of us here to see you so soon, eh? Well, we couldn’t wait. We’ve missed you back home. Les Amis just isn’t complete without you there but we’ve carried on just the same, and rather admirably I think! But we’re still looking forward to you getting back home and taking charge of the group, whipping us all back into shape! The doctors tell us you can still make a good recovery, Enj, and that’s great news! Now you just need to wake up and get with the program! We’ll be here with you every step of the way, we’ll help you however you need us to. So don’t be afraid, because you don’t have to go through any of this alone, ok? You’re always there for us. Now let us be there for you. So wakey wakey, Enjolras! There’s work to be done!”

Jehan finished speaking and sat silently for a moment beside his friend, took the uninjured right hand in his just as ‘Ferre and Courf had both done, brought it to his lips and kissed it softly, then laid it gently back by the blonde boy’s side.

Then he said softly “I brought a poem I wanted to share with you, Enjolras. I think it’s a good one for the situation you’re in. I know poetry isn’t really your thing but sometimes the right poem can be a powerful thing, the words themselves can be very healing.”

Jehan opened the book he’d tucked under his arm, leaned forward, closer to his friend’s face and started to read:

_In your life_

_A new day is dawning_

_Awaken and touch the beauty_

_Wherever you've come from_

_Whatever you've been_

_New possibilities beckon_

_Right here and now_

_Awaken and make them real_

_There was a time when you held in your heart_

_The most magnificent of dreams_

_A time when life seemed to carry_

_Endless promises and possibilities_

_Those dreams are still with you_

_Awaken and bring them to life_

_What you long for_

_Is longing for you_

_What you dream of_

_Is what you are meant to create_

_The doubts you have exist only in your mind_

_The anxieties that seem so burdensome are of your own making_

_Now is the moment to awaken,_

_and allow those doubts to melt away_

_Awaken, and dive deeply into the beauty of this moment_

_Allow your spirit to fully experience the richness of it all_

_Awaken_

_Allow peace to fill you completely_

_Let it touch your deepest longings_

_Let it bring those longings to life_

_Your most treasured possibilities are real,_

_If you will simply let them live through you_

_Awaken to this moment, and life begins anew_

_Reach inside, and allow_

_your most treasured_

_dreams to awaken with you_

_Into a bright and shining new day_

_Remind yourself again and again_

_Of how beautiful life can be_

_Remind yourself again and again_

_That you can make it so_

_Awaken_

_Step boldly and lovingly forward_

_Into this day_

_You've already come_

_So very far_

_You're stronger, more experienced_

_and more determined than ever_

_To fulfill those longings_

_That tell you who you are_

_Now is your moment to create real meaning_

_Now is your moment to awaken_

_And to truly and fully live_

(Awaken, by Ralph S. Marston, Jr.)

 

Jehan finished reading and closed the book softly, tucked it back under his arm and stood up to go. He bent over and kissed his friend softly on top of his head, played with the golden curls for a moment, then turned and walked out of the room as purposefully as when he’d entered.

When Jehan was back in the hallway he saw that Grantaire had finally detached himself from the chair and had inched toward Enjolras’ door, knowing he could no longer avoid whatever awaited him there. The deep fear he felt was still present in his eyes and written on his face and ‘Taire felt that it may even be etched on his soul, like it had become this unshakeable part of him. His hands still trembled as he held the letter from Enjolras, the words he was only supposed to see if ‘E’ had died. But he _HAD_ seen it; he had read the truth of Enjolras’ feelings for him and rejoiced at the revelation in those precious words, knowing that he felt the same. But how was he now to tell his Apollo what was in his heart? He didn’t trust his own words, his own voice, accustomed as he was to letting his art speak for him. But pictures and drawings would do no good in this situation. He had to talk. He could only hope that whatever words he managed to find would be strong enough, true enough, right enough, _real enough _ to reach Enjolras wherever he was, and to pull him back to this place and time, to these caring friends, and to this one true and loving heart. He took a steadying breath, then stepped forward, pushed the door open and entered the room.  

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras and Grantaire both make progress...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all have been kept waiting long enough for the E/R chapter... So here it is...

Grantaire froze almost immediately, rooted to the shiny linoleum floor just inside the door and looking to the place where his bright angel lay in the bed looking so…. so broken, so very very broken, just like his own heart at the sight, an indescribable, soul-wrenching pain gripping him from somewhere deep inside. It occurred to him suddenly that he was entirely too sober (or not nearly drunk enough) to be dealing with this nightmarish scenario. Yet he knew it would have felt disrespectful, dishonorable for him to show up here any other way. His hands trembled, his knees shook, his heart raced with fear and he felt as though his very thoughts may fly apart but still he wanted to be here, **_needed_** to be here, needed to be strong now for the sake of his Apollo. He took another steadying breath- in through the nose, out through the mouth- remembering the breathing technique Jehan had taught him for coping with his occasional panic attacks. Breathe, step, breathe step; it was in this manner he eventually arrived at Enjolras’ bedside. He tried not to avert his eyes from his love’s battered face, afraid that somehow Enjolras would know and be upset with his reaction. He sat down slowly in the chair by the bed, surveying the scene before him with renewed shock and sorrow. The metal rods and screws protruding from plaster were all that held Enjolras’ arm and leg together. Grantaire watched the steady, rhythmic rise of his strong chest, the plastic tube protruding from those beautiful, pale lips doing the breathing for him. The machines displayed his brain activity, blood pressure and heart rate. As if to assure himself, Grantaire reached out his hand toward Enjolras’ chest and laid it softly against the alabaster skin just to feel the beating of that Herculean heart, then pulled his hand back quickly, almost shyly. They had never really touched each other, nothing beyond the usual friendly hand on the shoulder, clap on the back, or customary kiss on each cheek in greeting. It certainly wasn’t for any lack of desire, at least not on Grantaire’s part. He had dreamed so many times of touching his angel, letting his hands roam freely over that impossibly beautiful body, kiss those rose petal lips, run his fingers through those golden curls. He cut that line of thinking short, knowing it would have to wait for another day. This was not the place and now was not the time. He settled for taking ‘E’s uninjured right hand in his own, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently. When he finally spoke, the firmness in his own voice surprised him.

“Hey there, slacker. Not like you to be lying about at this time of day. What’s up with that anyway? Don’t you have work to do, revolutions to plot, governments to overthrow, corporations to debase?”

He paused for a second when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the monitor displaying ‘E’s heart rate seemed to show a sudden increase in activity.

“Probably just a fluke”, he thought.

He squeezed the hand softly again and said “You know, it’d be kinda nice if you’d let us know what the hell’s going on in there, E. You’ve got everyone kinda freaked out. They tell us you can hear what we say. I really hope you can hear me. There’s so much I want to tell you. You seriously just need to quit screwing around and wake the fuck up already, Apollo.”

Again, a quick spike in the heart rate monitor. Ok, so maybe it wasn’t a fluke after all? Maybe somehow he **_was_** getting through to the battered boy. He decided to try laying his right palm flat against Enjolras’ chest but firmly this time and not pulling away so quickly. He did so, still holding E’s right hand in his left, fingers interlaced. He squeezed it lightly, spoke again, more softly this time.

“‘E’, please. Please tell me you’re in there somewhere and that you can hear me. We need you. **_I_** need you. I can’t tell you everything that’s in my heart until we can talk together, look each other in the eye. I wasn’t going to tell you this but I have your letter here, you know, the one you wrote before you left, just in case? ‘Ferre gave it to me when we thought you might… well, you know, might not make it through this. But you **_are_** going to make it through this ‘E’, I know you will. You have to. You’re just getting started in life, man, there’s so much you still need to do, so many good causes to fight for, so many wrongs in the world that need righting. And what about love, man? I know you don’t give much thought to that kinda stuff but it matters. It really does matter, E. You deserve to find true love, to know what it means to be happy sharing your life with someone who appreciates how totally amazing you can be, how beautiful you are on the **_inside_**.”

He paused for a moment but kept his hand on ‘E’s chest, watched the heart monitor come alive with activity. Trying to keep his voice steady and calm he said,

“’E’ if you can hear me, try to squeeze my hand.” 

He stopped speaking again, waiting, the heart monitor still measuring steady activity. Then he felt the squeeze, weak but definitely there.

“Ok, ‘E’, ok. Good job. Now I gotta make sure you’re not just messing with me. So we’re gonna do one squeeze for yes and two squeezes for no, ok? If you understand what I’m saying, squeeze once for yes.”

A brief pause, then one weak squeeze.

 “Alright, Apollo! You’re tracking now! So let’s just see how much you can do, smart guy. If you think this is Courf speaking to you, squeeze once for yes, twice for no.”

Another brief pause, then a light squeeze. Pause. Then a second squeeze! Grantaire had all he could do to keep from leaping up and running out of the room shouting the good news at the top of his lungs. But he stayed by the bedside, keeping the physical contact with Enjolras, and speaking to him again.

“Ok. Good. If you think this is ‘R’ speaking to you, squeeze once for yes, twice for no.”

Pause, then a squeeze, stronger this time. The heart rate monitor readings stayed strong, his respirations seemed to get deeper. These changes must have attracted someone’s attention at the nursing station because a nurse came hurrying through the door a moment later and asked,

 “What is going on here?”

“I’m not sure”, ‘Taire answered excitedly, while again shyly removing his hand from ‘E’s bare chest, “but I think we’re communicating!”

At that, Grantaire felt another single squeeze of his left hand.

“Is that true? Are you trying to talk to me ‘E’?”

Another squeeze. He couldn’t believe what was happening and thought it was quite possible his own heart may just beat out of his chest right on the spot.

“Well, whatever you’re doing”, said the nurse, “keep doing it! This is the most responsive he’s been since he arrived here, which is very encouraging.”

All ‘Taire could do was nod as the nurse departed.

 “You’re doing great Apollo. The nurses think you’re improving. Let’s not disappoint them ok? I really want you to try and open your eyes for me now, ‘E’. I know it’s hard, you’ve been through a lot. But you gotta try, E. Do it for me, ok? Try and open your eyes.”

He felt the light squeeze of his hand again, perhaps an acknowledgement of the request. He watched Enjolras’ face closely, looked for even the most minute flutter. After several minutes there was still no movement. The heart rate monitor decreased a bit from where it had been. ‘Taire squeezed E’s hand again gently and looking into that lovely face, he spoke to him in a calm and gentle voice.

“I know you want to ‘E’, I know you’re trying as hard as you can to come back to us. It’s ok. We’ll be here when you’re ready. We won’t give up on you. **_I_** won’t give up on you, not ever, I promise. As long as it takes I’ll be right here beside you.”

Then, more softly, a whisper, heartfelt but almost inaudible, “I love you, Apollo.”

At almost the same instant he felt the light squeeze of his hand, he saw those beautiful eyelids flutter just for a second or two. His own heart fairly fluttered at the sight, his breath caught in his throat and he was overcome with emotion. He let go of Enjolras’ hand, moved to the bed where he sat gingerly beside the blonde boy and laid his dark curly head softly against his chest. He sat that way for a few minutes just listening to his angel’s steady heartbeat.

 “I love you so much, Enjolras” he said, his voice almost breaking. “Please, please wake up and let me take you home.”

He could feel his tears slipping silently down his cheeks to land on his love’s pearl skin. And then amazingly, unbelievably, he felt a hand come to lay softly against his dark curls. Grantaire couldn’t move, could do nothing but sit there with his head resting on Enjolras’ chest, his tears falling freely now, his own heart paralyzed at once with feelings of overwhelming relief, utter joy, uncertain fear, and deep, profound love. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tidings of comfort and joy....and more progress....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and definitely kinda sweet but I wanted to get this posted ASAP for the folks who have been following it so patiently since the beginning. You have no idea how much I appreciate that... Hope you like it...

 

Chapter 19

The boys waiting in the hallway were getting a little nervous when ‘Taire didn’t rejoin them after what seemed like quite a long time. They worried, knowing he hadn’t been especially stable going in to this situation. ‘Ferre was elected to go check on things so, like a good leader, he went.

He found them both on the bed, ‘Taire laying softly against Enjolras’ good side, sound asleep with  his head pillowed on E’s chest, their hands clasped together, fingers interlaced. ‘Ferre hated to disturb such a tranquil scene, especially since Grantaire looked happier and more at peace than he had since before this all began. But the nurse said there’d been some progress and they were all anxious to know what had happened during ‘Taire’s visit. 

Combeferre gently shook his sleeping friend’s shoulder, called softly to him, “Hey, R. Wake up, mate.”

 “Hmmm, whaaat?” Grantaire mumbled drowsily, tried to focus through the sleepy haze. “Oh, hey ‘Ferre. Sorry man, I must’ve dozed off. But ‘Ferre, he’s trying to communicate! I think he’s really getting better!”

“What happened, R? The nurse said there’d been some improvement but she didn’t say what it was. Did he open his eyes?”

‘Taire straightened up, stretched his neck and back and then gently, reluctantly released his hold on Enjolras’ hand. He leaned down to place a chaste kiss on his Apollo’s cheek and whispered something in his ear. Then he motioned for ‘Ferre to follow him out of the room. Grantaire had read in his recent research on coma patients that it was best not to talk about the treatment plans or condition of the person while in their presence because it was thought to cause the patient distress. They went out into the hallway and were quickly joined by Courf and Jehan who were also anxious to know what was going on with their fearless leader. Grantaire faced them all, smiling the warmest, most genuine smile any of them could remember seeing- ever- from their usually inebriated, moody, cynical artist. This was the kind of reaction they’d all hoped to see when their two friends finally got their shit together and declared their undying love for each other. Under the circumstances that scenario didn’t seem quite possible. Or was it?

“So are you just gonna stand there grinning like the village idiot or are you going to tell us **_what the fuck is going on_**?” Courf wasn’t exactly well known for his patience or subtlety. That was definitely Combeferre’s shtick.

“He’s trying to communicate with us, guys!”, ‘Taire said excitedly. “I’m pretty sure he knew it was me in there with him. He squeezed my hand when I asked him to, once for yes, twice for no. He even tried to open his eyes, I think. I definitely saw his eyelids flutter when I told him I… that I… that **_we’d_** be here for him however long it takes.”

Grantaire looked shyly at the floor as he stumbled over his explanation, not quite ready to reveal exactly what he’d told Enjolras that may have caused his eyelids to flutter. The nurse had told the boys earlier that E’s heart rate was definitely reacting to the presence of their friend, but in a very positive way. When ‘Ferre asked her about the brain wave activity, the nurse said that the changes there were only slight right now, but still overall a positive sign. It wasn’t lost on any of them that it was E’s heart responding to Grantaire’s presence more strongly than his brain for they already knew what those two clueless idiots had yet to acknowledge. Still now perhaps there was some hope that in the process of Enjolras finding his way back to this family of theirs that he and ‘Taire might finally find their way to each other.

Grantaire spoke up again, saying “I think we can bring him back, all of us together. It’s going to take some time but he’s ready and he wants to do it, I can totally feel it. We just have to work with him. We can’t overwhelm him though. I think he gets upset and frustrated with himself when he can’t do what’s asked of him. His heart rate actually drops when he can’t do something. You know what a perfectionist our Apollo is!”

Jehan was looking at Grantaire, beaming. “You’re so amazing, ‘Taire! Look at all you were able to do to help E just by being there beside him! And you were so afraid, so unsure when we got here. But you did it! I’m so proud of you!”

He wrapped his arms around the bemused artist and held him in a warm embrace.

“I love you too, you crazy little Bohemian hippie child. But this is definitely gonna be a team effort.”

Grantaire suddenly seemed to have a command presence unlike anything his friends had ever seen in him, even despite the below normal levels of alcohol in his system, sleep deprivation, overwhelming anxiety and fear about the condition of his… his what? Boyfriend seemed somehow too premature, too presumptuous to Grantaire. Yet there was an unmistakable air of propriety when he spoke about Enjolras now, about his wants and needs and what their battle plan should be for aiding his recovery. They all sensed the change that had taken place without understanding exactly why or how.  


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with all the visitors...and Enjolras has a lot to say...sort of.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My disclaimer about coma: I only know what I've been told by a couple of my military buddies who are wounded warriors and spent some time in a comatose state after their injuries. The things they remember about that experience are amazing. Their spirit of determination to survive and to come back to the world inspire and humble me beyond words...  
> I also apologize for the brevity of this chapter. Holiday madness has taken over my life (and my brain...) I promise it will get better after the New Year... till then I will try to post what I can as often as I can but I care deeply about the quality of my work and staying true to the characters as I've depicted them herein. Hope you are all enjoying whatever holidays you may be celebrating, wherever you may be celebrating them. Please remember the military folks and their families who can't be together for the holidays. And also remember the military families grieving their loved ones, especially at this time of year.  
> Happy Solstice too!! <3

 

 

‘Ferre stood by his friend’s bedside, anxious to ‘communicate’ with him as Grantaire had during his visit with Enjolras. All of the boys had adjusted to the initial shock of E’s battered and broken appearance. Now they had moved on to trying to help their friend find his way back to the world, back to life. Combeferre sat down beside his best friend, took his right hand in his own and spoke to him in a calm, conversational tone.

“Hey E, it’s ‘Ferre. You’re looking better today, mon ami. You’ve got more color in your face for sure. It’s beautiful outside considering it’s Fall already. Hard to believe, isn’t it? I didn’t think I’d like it here. You know I’ve never been too crazy about Germany. But it’s not that bad really. Although this isn’t exactly a holiday trip now is it? We really want you to get well so we can get you out of here and take you home. They say when you’ve improved enough we can have you transferred to the Percy Training Hospital of the Armies in Clamart, near Paris. Would you like that, Enj? If you understand me, can you squeeze once for yes, twice for no, please?”

Then ‘Ferre sat quietly and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. He felt a single squeeze, firm and definite, not a reflexive action but an actual response. ‘Ferre was elated.

“That’s great E! Good job, mate, really good! We will all do whatever we can to help you get there, that’s a promise. Courf and Jehan have to get back to Paris but ‘Taire and I are gonna stay here with you. Feuilly has family near here. I guess they came to Germany from Poland after Feuilly’s mother and father died so he doesn’t really remember them but they’ve all been in touch recently. They’re letting us stay in their town home so we don’t have to pay for a hotel and we can be closer to you here. Pretty nice, eh?”

Surprisingly there was a quick but firm single squeeze of ‘Ferre’s hand even without his prompting. He could hardly contain his excitement.

“You’re doing great, Enj. Really brilliant. Now you have to try and open your eyes for us. Start flashing those baby blues again and driving everyone wild. You know it’ll make ‘Taire’s heart beat faster to see those eyes of yours again, mate. You know it’s no secret to anyone that he’s in love with you, Enj. Well, maybe just to you and him. But the rest of us have known for a while. He does love you, very much it seems. This has all been really hard on him but he’s totally stepped up, dealt with everything that’s happened. He wants to do whatever’s best for you, whatever you need him to do. And he’s hardly been drinking which is the most amazing bit of all. You know he couldn’t be bothered to do any of this if he didn’t really love you. I think his actions say a lot about his intentions, don’t you think so?”

Another firm and rapid single squeeze told ‘Ferre that E was in agreement with his assessment of Grantaire’s behavior. But there was still one big question ‘Ferre wanted to ask. He didn’t know if E being in a coma would make him more likely to give an honest response to the question or if his chronic case of emotional constipation would still have him locked in deep denial about his true feelings for the raven haired cynic. Only one way to find out, ‘Ferre thought to himself.

“Enj, even though maybe he hasn’t told you in so many words, I think you know how ‘Taire feels about you, don’t you mate?” A single squeeze.

“That’s good, E, really good. But I’m wondering, do you feel the same way about him?”

There was no delay, not a moment’s hesitation. Enjolras squeezed Combeferre’s hand once, firmly, decidedly, and then held on almost as if he were trying to put an exclamation point on his response. ‘Ferre smiled, delighted at both the answer itself and at Enjolras’ ability to communicate what he was feeling so clearly despite the obstacles in his way. Even if it was just the simple squeeze of a hand still it was a start, and a rather good one at that.

Next up in the visitors queue that morning was Jehan. He and Courf were scheduled to leave Landstuhl early the next morning to take the train back to Paris. They both had classes and work to attend to though their hearts would definitely remain here with their friends. This would be their last chance to visit with Enjolras until he could be transferred to the hospital at Clamart and no one knew how long that might take. Jehan brought Enjolras a plant, a Fairy primrose whose colorful star shaped blooms hung from long stems. He also brought a beautiful, warm patchwork quilt for Enjolras’ bed. It was antique ivory in color with a different wildflower featured in each patch. Jehan thought it was important to add life and color to the sterile hospital room, that it just might help E to heal faster. He set the primrose plant on the bedside table, adjusted the quilt lovingly around his friend’s undamaged side, then sat gently on the bed beside him, legs folded underneath, and took hold of his hand.

“Hi E!” Jehan started speaking brightly as he played with the edges of the soft quilt. “Hope you like this quilt! It looks really comfy on your bed. And don’t worry about the primrose. It practically takes care of itself but ‘Ferre promised to look after it for you till you wake up. ‘Taire kills plants so he’s not allowed to touch it”, Jehan chuckled lightly.

“Everyone says you’re looking better and responding more”, he continued cheerily. “That is really exciting! We’re all anxious to bring you home to Paris as soon as you’re strong enough to move. I just know that’ll be soon, E. Courf and I have to go back tomorrow. I wish we could stay. We both want to be here when you open your eyes. But with work and classes, well, you know… Besides, someone has to look after Les Amis! Feuilly can’t manage that unruly bunch by himself! So we’re here to say bye for now cuz we know we’ll see you again really soon. ‘Ferre and Grantaire are going to stay here with you and make SURE you get well fast! They’ll be giving us all the news so we’ll be looking forward to hearing all about how well you’re doing!” 

Here Jehan paused to draw a breath. When he started speaking again his tone became softer, more serious.

“E, you’re the bravest, strongest, most amazing person I know. I will never forget the first time I met you or the first time I heard you speak, how your words gave me hope and how they sounded like pure poetry to me.  Your light burns brighter than anyone’s I’ve ever known. There is so much fire in your eyes, power in your voice and passion in your soul for the world, for the future, for the people. You must come back to us, Enj. You simply must. We need you, the future needs you. Please, E, promise me you’ll try. You will try, won’t you?”

Jehan’s plea was rewarded with a firm and prolonged squeeze of his hand. He only wished Enjolras could’ve seen the brilliant smile that lit his face in that moment. He let go of E’s hand and leaned down to kiss him softly on the cheek.

“Thank you, Enj. I know you can do it. I’ll see you at home soon. Je t’aime mon cher ami. A’bientot!”

And with that he slipped quietly out of the room and into the hallway where Courf was waiting to see Enjolras and to say his own adieus. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also apologize for my butchering of French. It's been quite a few years since I took it in school. I really appreciate feedback... a lot....


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which Enjolras has a few visitors, but only one that cuddles him and hums his favorite song... The rest is a surprise so you'll just have to read it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere apologies for the long break between chapters. We've been bombarded by holiday madness and family birthdays this week. Hopefully this will have been worth the wait and I'll try to get the next update out much sooner.. Happy New Year to everyone and a belated happy birthday to George Blagden.

 

 

On this visit, Courf entered Enjolras’ hospital room and crossed the floor to his bedside with no hesitation at all. He sat himself not on the hard plastic visitors chair but instead perched lightly on the bed beside Enjolras’ and gently took hold of his right hand.

“Hey E, just came to see you and say goodbye before Jehan and I leave for home tomorrow. But we’ll see you again soon at Percy Hospital in Clamart, ok? You’re going to get home soon, Enj, I just feel it. All the gang are there waiting for you. Eponine and Cosette are already fighting over who gets to be your home nurse. I think they’re both going to have to fight ‘Taire for that job though. Pretty sure he won’t be letting you out of his sight again anytime soon! Oh my God, Enj. I just thought of the funniest thing. Can you even imagine Ep as a nurse?!”

Courf laughed out loud, startled himself as it reverberated in the mostly silent room, but then continued.

“Poor Ep. She’s got her hands full just trying to keep Azelma and Gavroche out of trouble. You need to get back there and have a serious chat to young Gav though. Seems he’s decided a life of crime is the quick and easy way to wealth and glory. Little hoodlum got caught pinching iPods at school then trying to sell them! He needs some manly guidance, Enj, from someone with good values and a moral compass that isn’t defective. Someone like you. So just get better already, will you? Get your broke ass up outta this bed and get home before our young n’er do well ends up with an inmate number!”

Courf smiled down at his friend and was shocked to see Enjolras’ eyelids fluttering, actually fluttering!

“That’s it, E!” he said excitedly. “I know you’re trying! Just keep going, keep trying. Don’t quit. You are getting there my friend, a little closer to home every day!”

Courf leaned down to kiss Enjolras on the cheek, whispered “Goodbye for now, old friend.” He was surprised again, this time when E’s hand deliberately reached for his arm and his fingers closed lightly around Courf’s wrist. Enjolras held on, almost as if to say “Listen up, Courf. I’m here and I’m trying. Don’t give up on me!”

Courf gently uncurled Enjolras’ fingers from his wrist, kissed his friend’s open palm and laid it back across Enj’s chest. He stood to go, but not before whispering “I love you, E. I’ll see you soon.” He was startled to see a single tear escaping from the corner of Enjolras’ right eye. Swiping at the tears in his own eyes, Courf quickly turned and left the room.

Once he had said goodbye to Courf and Jehan in the hallway, Grantaire returned to Enjolras’ bedside where he’d been keeping a pretty constant vigil since E was first permitted visitors. He knew how important it was to the others to spend time with Enjolras, how important it was for Enjolras to know they were all there with him, all offering him their encouragement and support. Enj’s recovery would be a team effort, Grantaire knew this, and so he was grateful for the love and caring each of their friends gave to E. He had been heartened to hear everything that Courf and Jehan had seen and experienced during their visits, all the good signs, positive signs that Enjolras was trying so hard to reach out to them from where he was, to wake up and to rejoin them in this present place. Grantaire knew, as did the others, that Enjolras was nothing if not a warrior and that death itself could not have chosen a more formidable or obstinate foe.  If ever someone was going to succeed in a brilliant comeback from the very edge of oblivion, it would be their fair Apollo… _**his**_ Apollo.

Grantaire stretched himself out carefully and lay on the bed, positioning himself gingerly against Enjolras’ right side. He intertwined their fingers together and then pillowed his head on E’s chest. With his free hand, Grantaire reached up and ran his fingers through those beautiful golden curls. He hummed softly against Enjolras’ chest, an old song by Edith Piaf that he knew E loved. Grantaire had never let on that he knew about E’s almost obsessive love affair with the music of la Mome Piaf, the little sparrow of Paris. ‘Taire remembered how he’d had to duck out of sight quickly and stifle a laugh when he’d arrived early at the Musain for one of the weekly meetings, heard someone singing and saw Enjolras with his iPod and headphones ‘performing’ a Piaf song for an invisible audience in the upstairs room. It seemed Apollo had quite the dramatic flair whilst imitating the famous Parisian songbird! Who knew?! Of course it made complete sense that Enjolras would have identified with Piaf. She was truly one of ‘the people’- poor, abandoned by her mother, left by her father to be raised in a brothel, singing in the streets of Paris for a living, a life steeped in tragedy and sadness from beginning to end. Tempting as it  had been, Grantaire never ‘outed’ their fearless leader for being a closet Piaf fan, instead keeping it to himself, almost as a secret only he and Enjolras knew (even if only one of them was in on it!)

As he lay there humming ‘Hymne l’Amour’ against E’s chest and listening to his love’s steady heartbeat, Grantaire wondered what it might be like to have times like this with Enjolras after he had recovered and once they were together, really together, belonging to each other for good.  It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time thoughts like these had crossed his mind. He’d often dreamed about lazy mornings with his love, waking up together, wrapped in each other’s arms, warm and safe. They would just lay together like that, talking quietly about everything and nothing, touching each other, holding hands, kissing. Grantaire might even get up before Enjolras had awoken, gone to the kitchen to make coffee and fresh breakfast rolls. He’d come back to the room- _**their**_ room- with a tray, lean over the sleeping god in the bed- _**their**_ bed- and gently kiss him awake. They’d drink their coffee, eat, talk, argue amicably, touch, kiss, make love together and fall back asleep again, tangled up in soft silky sheets and each other. It was all Grantaire could ever hope for, all he wanted out of this life, just to be the one always at E’s side.  When they’d first gotten word of the accident, the severity of his injuries, ‘Taire thought perhaps all hope of that dream, that life was gone, ripped away from him cruelly before he’d had the chance to know how it felt to be that happy. Here now today, though, there was reason to hope again and Grantaire’s heart was alight with happiness.

His quiet musings were suddenly interrupted by an insistent gripping of his fingers and the determined movements of Enjolras’ good arm against ‘Taire’s side. Snapping out of his reverie, ‘Taire asked “What is it, E?” as he turned his head quickly to look at Enjolras’ face. Grantaire could hardly believe the sight that greeted him. Those beautiful steel blue eyes were open wide, a look of sheer terror in them, confusion written everywhere on that battered face. Grantaire didn’t know for sure if Enjolras could see him. His eyes were wild, searching everywhere at once though not necessarily making any sense of what they saw. It was all Grantaire could do to contain his own wildly beating heart and the sense of both elation and panic that gripped him. He took a few steadying breaths, cupped Enjolras face with one hand and gently turned his head toward him so he could look directly into those gorgeous, frightened eyes. He spoke softly, calmly.

“Shhhh, hush now. You’re ok, E. I’m here. Don’t be afraid. Everything’s ok. Shhh. I’m here with you now.”

‘Taire continued speaking in this manner, softly, soothingly, stroking Enjolras’ hair as he spoke but never taking his eyes off that beautiful face. Gradually the terror seemed to pass and the light of recognition came on in Enjolras’ eyes. Slowly he stilled under Grantaire’s touch, looking to him for the answers to questions he could not yet voice. But ‘Taire could see them all and he understood. He held Enjolras’ hand, again speaking to him calmly and quietly.

“You’re in the hospital, E. There was an accident. You were hurt badly. You’ve had some surgery. You’ve also had some trouble breathing so there’s a tube in your throat that’s helping your lungs to work. That’s why you can’t speak. Your arm and leg are still healing so it’s important that you don’t thrash about or move too much. You’ve been asleep awhile. But you’re doing great now and you’re going to be ok. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Enj?”

There was a slow, hesitant nod in the affirmative.

“Good! Your brain may feel a little fuzzy and things may not make sense right away but all that will pass, I promise. I’m going to press your call button now to let the nurse know you’re awake. The doctor will probably want to see you and check you over, ok?”

Again, the grip on ‘Taire’s hand tightened and he could see fear returning to those midnight blue eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, E. I promise. I’ll be right here with you. All I have to do is reach over and press this red button, ok?”

The grip relaxed and Enjolras settled back calmly against his pillows, still holding on to ‘Taire’s hand. Despite the present circumstances, Grantaire thought he’d never felt anything quite so wonderful as Enjolras’ hand in his, warm, soft and trusting. He pressed the call button and together they waited.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super short but pretty sweet!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come but this one wrote itself pretty quickly... Enjoy!

 

Both the attending physician and the young resident examining Enjolras seemed pleased with what they saw and heard. It was time, they agreed, to take out the breathing tube and see how he did breathing on his own. They asked him how he felt about this idea and did he think he was ready to try. Enjolras looked to Grantaire who was sat beside him, still holding his hand. It was a look of uncertainty more so than a question. Grantaire squeezed his hand, smiled and nodded. Enjolras faced the doctors and nodded yes, he was ready to try.

“Well, alright then!” said the attending with a smile. “Let’s get this thing out of your throat!”

They worked carefully, gently inching the plastic tubing out and trying not to irritate the throat any more than necessary. Grantaire stood aside, out of the way, but his eyes were locked on Enjolras’. When it was out and they had disconnected everything from the breathing machine, Grantaire took up his place by E’s side again, their hands clasped tightly together. The doctors told him his throat would be sore and that his voice may not work well at first but just to be patient and give it a few days to come back on line. They asked him to take a few breaths as deeply as he could manage whilst they listened to his lungs and observed his respiration rate. Enjolras tried to comply, coughed a bit, and then tried again. Even something as natural as breathing, it seemed, could get rusty if you hadn’t done it in a while.

Enjolras eyes now were locked on Grantaire’s and the unspoken encouragement passing between them was palpable. Grantaire breathed with him, slowly, in through the nose, out through the mouth, counting as they went. The doctors stood aside, watching quietly, letting love work its magic. After a few minutes passed in this way the young resident spoke up, asked if Enjolras wanted to try and speak. E nodded vigorously. They all watched as he moved his lips over and over, trying to form the words that seemed stuck somewhere between his brain and his lips. They could see the frustration in his face, the confusion, why weren’t things working the way they should?

Grantaire smiled at him, squeezed his hand reassuringly while he ran his other hand lovingly through E’s blonde locks and said “It’s ok, Enj. It’s ok. If it doesn’t come today then you’ll just try again tomorrow, ok? Everything will come back to you in time. Just be calm and breathe. Nothing is so important that it has to happen now. Look at all the amazing progress you’ve made today!”

Enjolras relaxed and smiled back at ‘Taire. It was the first true and genuine ‘Enjolras smile’, that thousand watt smile that could light up a room that ‘Taire had seen in over six months. It was without doubt the most beautiful sight in the world to Grantaire and it very nearly reduced him to tears. And then he heard it. Raspy, soft, almost inaudible, but still he heard it: “I love you ‘Aire.”

The two doctors who had been standing off to the side seemed to realize this might be a good time to leave and so they made their exit, slipping quietly out the door into the hallway leaving the two boys alone.

All attempts at keeping up a brave front, being stoic and maintaining his composure went out the window for Grantaire as those four words hung in the air. He lay back on the bed, pressed close against Enjolras’ good side, intertwined their fingers, then buried his dark curly head in the crook of Enjolras’ neck. ‘Taire wrapped his arm across E’s chest as he sobbed, holding on for dear life. There were no words only tears, breaths choked with sobs, then more tears. Enjolras couldn’t understand exactly why but still he wrapped his right arm around Grantaire’s heaving shoulders, pulling him close and making soft ‘shush-ing’ sounds into this hair. They lay together like this for a while, the contact alone uniting them better than any words ever could.

When ‘Taire looked up and into his Apollo’s face again he saw that he had closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. Taire was struck again by how beautiful he was, how young he looked when he slept even with the injuries that now marred his angelic face. Grantaire carefully extricated himself from E’s embrace, made sure he was positioned comfortably then pulled the blankets up around his shoulders. He left the room and went out to the hallway, anxious to call Combeferre and tell him everything that had transpired that day. 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Ferre and Enjolras have a little quality time and 'Ferre tries to answer the hard questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More E/R to come, folks! I promise. Probably next chapter. Thanks for reading and enjoy!

 

Once again Combeferre found himself standing by Enjolras’ bedside. The sight that met him there this time though lightened the weight of fear and anxiety he’d been carrying in his heart and gave him cause to smile. The boy in the bed looked a bit more like his oldest, dearest friend.

“Hi there, sleeping beauty! Welcome back to the world!” said ‘Ferre smiling as he leaned over to place a kiss on top of the blonde curly head.

Enjolras smiled back at him, the biggest smile he could muster and rasped out “Hello ‘Ferre!”

His voice was still fighting its way back to normal but Enjolras wanted to exercise it every chance he got. Just the mere sound of it warmed Combeferre’s heart like the sun.

“You gave us quite the fright there, my friend”, said Combeferre.” Could you maybe not do that again, like EVER? I think I’ve aged 10 years in these last few weeks alone!”

Enjolras couldn’t laugh just yet but the look on his face said he was laughing aloud inside. “Sorry”, he managed, nodding his head apologetically. “I’ll try to be good.”

“Fair enough then”, said ‘Ferre, seating himself in the chair beside the bed. “The doctors said you were asking for me, E. Is everything ok?”

Enjolras nodded then whispered “Can’t remember much. Can you help?”

‘Ferre understood immediately what his friend was asking about, dreaded the conversation.

“I wasn’t there, E. I can only tell you what they told me. It’s third hand at best but I suppose it may help you fill in some of the blank spots.”

Enjolras nodded again. ‘Ferre knew that every question to follow would be an effort for his friend, both physically and emotionally.

“The accident. What happened?” asked Enjolras softly, uncertainty in his eyes.

“Your convoy hit a roadside bomb. The vehicle you were in was hit hardest. It was blown up into the air then landed on its side. You were injured badly, mostly on your left side because you were pinned in the wreckage on that side for a while. They thought you might lose the leg, possibly the arm too.”

Here ‘Ferre paused to assess the impact this information was having on Enjolras. There was plenty of time to tell him everything, it didn’t all have to happen now. ‘Ferre didn’t want to overwhelm him and possibly cause him to back slide in his recovery process. He could see that E looked a bit paler and his respiration rate seemed to have increased.

“Maybe I should stop here, E. There’s no hurry for this, mate.”

“NO!” Enjolras stated suddenly with such force that it startled both of them. “No, please. Go on.”

“You were taken to the field hospital in Kabul for emergency surgery.”

“NO!” said Enjolras again, forcefully. “Go back!”

“Back?” asked Combeferre, slightly confused.

“The others!” said Enjolras. “Tell me about the others.”

“E, I don’t know if now is the best time”, Combeferre began patiently.

At this Enjolras grabbed hold of the (thankfully empty!) water pitcher on the bedside table with his good arm and flung it across the room with surprising strength for a man who had only recently awoken from a coma.

“TELL ME!” he demanded in as loud a tone as he could force his still rusty voice to make. “Need to know. Saw them, saw their faces while I was… where I was.”

“Ok, E. Ok.” ‘Ferre placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you everything I know. But you have to try and stay calm, mate. They won’t let me in to see you again if they think I’m upsetting you. Do you understand?”

Enjolras nodded again, settled back against the pillows, his steel blue eyes locked on Combeferre’s hazel ones looking for any sign of evasiveness in his old friend’s face.

“There were four with you. The sergeant, Wilson I believe is his name, was injured but not very badly. He helped coordinate getting everyone to safety. The driver, he was injured badly, like you and as far as I know he is still in hospital in Kabul. The gunner, Davis and the other passenger, Mendoza, were both killed instantly.” 

 ‘Ferre paused again to let this information settle into his friend’s consciousness. He could see Enjolras was struggling to put all the pieces together in his mind and ‘Ferre’s heart ached for him.

“Is there more you wanted to ask, Enj?” asked ‘Ferre patiently. He wasn’t really sure how much more he could add since the only ‘official’ details he’d been given were about Enjolras.

“My team?” asked Enjolras.

“All fine, back in Paris” answered ‘Ferre. “Just concerned about you of course.”

Enjolras nodded slightly. “Thank you.”  Then, “Where’s ‘Taire?”

“Getting some much needed rest, doctors’ orders” said ‘Ferre, smiling “He’s hardly left your bedside for a minute since we got here.”

“I know”, said E. “I thought….dreamed…him talking to me.”

“He did. We all did. Wanted you to know we were here with you.”

“I knew”, answered Enjolras, smiling and reaching out for Combeferre’s hand. “I felt you all.”

He closed his eyes then, looking quite weary and was sound asleep a few minutes later. Combeferre stayed sitting beside him, still holding his hand, weeping quiet tears of relief and gratitude till he too drifted off to sleep.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heart to heart... and maybe some kissing too...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something to make the E/R shippers smile and feel all warm and fuzzy about... Hopefully the rest of ya'all will find something to like about it too!

 

‘Taire was back at his post by Enjolras’ side bright and early the next morning, the solid 18 hours of sleep ‘Dr. Combeferre’ had ordered seeming to have done him wonders. 

“I want to go home” said Enjolras almost as soon as R was through the door.

“Well, good morning to you too sunshine!” quipped R in reply. “And you just hold your horses there, big fella. They’ll let you go when they’re damn sure you’re not gonna bottom out on us again in transit. You’ve scared the living crap out of every single person you know and aged us all at least a decade just getting you this far! Seriously, another week or two isn’t gonna hurt anything so just cool your jets, mister. You’re not going anywhere for the moment.”

R was using his newfound ‘command voice’ and Enjolras was rather taken aback by the confident and authoritative air coming from the historically unstable and generally unpredictable artist. When had all this happened, he wondered? And just how long _had_ he been asleep anyway?

“Besides” R smiled, speaking more softly, “You and I have plenty to talk about. Like this letter you left with ‘Ferre to give me, just in case.” He held up the pages, slightly crumpled and noticeably tear stained and asked Enjolras “Do you remember writing this to me? Before you left?”

Enjolras nodded and swallowed hard, licked his lips nervously. His sudden ‘deer-in-the-headlights’ look nearly made Grantaire laugh out loud but he checked himself and waited. E did remember writing the letter, remembered it in great detail actually, sitting outside the café in the sun on a rare warm spring day. He remembered struggling to write it which had seemed strange to him since words were his life, his religion, his arsenal and his armor. Even when he’d finished it, he wasn’t pleased. There was so much in his heart for this man now sat beside him watching him so intently, so very much that he’d wondered if perhaps the words he needed simply didn’t exist. Other than passion for his causes, Enjolras didn’t really ‘do’ feelings either. But rather than drown them in a sea of cheap booze, he’d simply chosen to ignore their existence altogether.  (Apparently denial can take many forms!)

“So I’m curious then”, said ‘Taire somewhat cautiously. “Did you mean what you said? Or were you just going for something you thought sounded kind and comforting because you were really worried that you might **_actually_** die over there?”

Now _that_ sounded more like the ‘Taire he knew, thought Enjolras. The skeptical, self-deprecating un-believing ‘Taire, the man who didn’t believe he deserved to be happy- ever, the man who thought he’d never be worthy of someone as wonderful and beautiful and, well, _perfect_ as Apollo. It pained Enjolras’ heart to know that he thought so little of himself, especially when Enjolras knew how amazing, special and, well, _beautiful_ Grantaire really was.

But despite the coma and the injuries and the near-death experiences of the last couple of months, Enjolras was still Enjolras. So instead of showing his hand right off, he screwed on his best poker face and said

 “Are you implying you thought I was being insincere? Really ‘Taire? Since when have you ever known me to be so disingenuous, especially with my friends?”

This wasn’t at all the response Grantaire had been expecting and he was temporarily dumbstruck.

“Well” he started, “I don’t know…it’s just… well, you don’t….oh fuck it…”

He leaned down to kiss his Apollo firmly on the lips, softly cupping his cheek as he did so, hoping this gesture might convey more clearly what was in his heart at that moment. He felt Enjolras’ cheek lean into his palm as the kiss deepened, telling ‘Taire everything he needed to know. He pulled back just far enough so he could look into the other boy’s deep blue eyes, a veritable sea of emotions greeting him; love, need, desire, fear, hope, joy, and perhaps just a wee bit of panic. There’d be no hiding behind that infamous marble mask, not anymore.

Suddenly the ‘deer-in-the-headlights’ look returned and in an instant, Grantaire understood. His normally hard-bitten, cynical heart was nearly overcome with a flood of warmth and empathy. Apollo, the fiery revolutionary, voice of the people, their fearless and charismatic leader was really in love- **_with him_** \- and the realization of that truth clearly had this bold, brave, dauntless man scared senseless. In all the time ‘Taire had known Enjolras, he’d never known him to fear anything or be easily intimidated by anyone. Yet his true feelings for the drunken artist seem to have unhinged the mighty Apollo, causing him to come crashing to earth with all the indignity of any mere mortal- and all because of the raven-haired cynic. Grantaire could scarcely believe this was happening. Still cupping the other boy’s cheek with his palm, ‘Taire spoke to him fondly in a tone one might use with a scared child.

“You’re just this way with me, aren’t you Apollo?”

 Enjolras, wide-eyed, nodded and answered softly, shyly “Only with you…”

Grantaire smiled, pressing their foreheads together lightly.

“In that case we should probably get a few things cleared up. First, I love you too. I’ve been in love with you since practically the moment I laid eyes on you. Next, do not get any brilliant ideas about charging off to save the world again anytime soon. And lastly, _NEVER NEVER_ scare me like this ever again. NEVER. Do you read me, mister? I may not be quite so understanding about it next time. Now if you’ll permit it, I’d very much like to kiss you again.”

Enjolras smiled brightly, nodded and whispered “I do permit it. Now shut up and kiss me.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of quality time for our favorite pair, now that they're both present enough to enjoy it!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long break between updates. We had an epic rainstorm one week ago here in South Florida where the rainfall was measured in feet (or meters if you prefer!) per hour. I was in my car and hit some unexpectedly deep water. My car engine stalled out and the water started rising rapidly INSIDE the car. Thankfully an armored police tactical vehicle showed up to pull me out. My beautiful 2012 Nissan Altima couldn't be salvaged and I had to watch helplessly as they towed away the first brand new car I've ever owned (bought two years ago for my 51st birthday.) It's been a rough week, folks!

CHAPTER 25

When Combeferre walked in to Enjolras’ room and saw his two friends in a rather passionate lip lock, his response went something like this: “Jesus Mary and Joseph, it’s about bloody time!” Then he turned on his heel, exited the room and immediately called Courf and Jehan to tell them the good news (again…the other good news of course being that Enjolras had awoken and seemed to be quite himself for the most part…) ‘Ferre felt sorry for their neighbors as he heard the shouting and shrieking laughter on the other end. He was certain though that that would be the _only_ call he’d need to make. The others would all know in the next 30 minutes or less.  Finally, some news they’d be _happy_ to share!

When he returned to the room, he found the two boys just holding hands and smiling at each other, the way people newly in love will do, unaware of anyone else in the room.

“Are you two soppy gits going to be mooning over each other all day?” ‘Ferre inquired, less than patiently.

‘Taire smiled up at him innocently and said “Why yes, dear Combeferre! We may very well just!”

‘Ferre snorted his displeasure at all this lovey-doveyness then looked to Enjolras who just looked back at him helplessly, shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

“Right then” said ‘Ferre. “Guess I’ll just come back later, after the love fest is over.”

He patted his old friend on the shoulder then headed out the door.

“Safe to assume they’ll all know we’re officially an “item” before tea time” said Grantaire fondly. “I mean, we ARE official now, right?”

He looked to Enjolras hesitantly, the slightest bit of fear and doubt playing in his sea green eyes.

Enjolras smiled, pulled him in close and held him as tightly as he could with one good arm, then proceeded to kiss him till he was nearly breathless.

“Does that answer your question, love?” asked Enjolras softly as they sat foreheads pressed lightly together.

“It does indeed” answered Grantaire. “But if I have any other doubts, will you tell me again? Just like that?”

“Any time. Any time at all. I promise” answered Enjolras with such tenderness in his voice that it made Grantaire quiver all over.

Enjolras’ restlessness with his limited freedom didn’t dissipate much but having Grantaire nearby really seemed to help even if they were just sitting together quietly. Enjolras was reading again, albeit slowly since his brain still had trouble maintaining focus and making sense of things. ‘Taire would listen to music on his iPod, work crossword puzzles or gently massage Enjolras’ neck, shoulders or feet. He would sing softly to him too, sometimes without really being aware of it. One time he was humming quietly while he rubbed Enjolras’ back with some calming crème. Enjolras had a sudden recollection, a flash like a memory only hazier and more dreamlike.

“When I was….away… you know, sleeping… you were singing to me. It was an old song, one I was always fond of” said Enjolras. He phrased it as a statement, not a question at all.

“You remember that?” asked Grantaire, surprised.

“I think so” Enjolras said. “It’s a little hazy but I’m sure it was you and the song was by la Mome Piaf, wasn’t it?”

Grantaire could only nod, stunned. The medical staff had told the boys that Enjolras might be able to hear them and had encouraged them all to talk to him as if he were fully conscious, so they had.

“What else do you remember, E?”

“Prouvaire, reading a poem? Did that really happen?”

“Yes, it did” answered ‘Taire.

“All of you were there with me I think and some of you felt afraid and sad at first. I wanted to tell you it was ok, not to be afraid, that I was still here but I couldn’t. I tried but I couldn’t.”

“Well” said ‘Taire, “eventually you were able to squeeze our hands when we asked you to so we knew you were in there somewhere and hearing us. That gave everyone hope. We knew you were going to fight the good fight to make your way back to us and so you did.”

“So how did you know I like Piaf anyway? That’s not exactly common knowledge”, Enjolras said somewhat shyly.

Grantaire smiled as he recalled the day at the Musain watching their fearless leader lip syncing in an absolutely brilliant performance for a completely invisible audience.

“I’ll tell you but you have to promise not to get upset with me” answered ‘Taire.

“Ok, I guess I can promise that much” answered Enjolras cautiously.

“I got to the café early one day, before the meeting” Grantaire began. “As I was coming upstairs I thought I heard singing so I kind of peeked through the door. And there you were kind of lip syncing and giving a bit of a performance really, though no one was there. I had to duck out of sight really fast and cover my mouth with my sleeve so I didn’t laugh out loud! But you were just amazing, Enj, so unrestrained and passionate. I thought you were absolutely adorable and I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you a little bit more that day. Although thinking back on it I’m pretty sure we argued during the meeting later. Couldn’t let you think I was getting all mushy or whatever!”

Enjolras laughed quietly, remembering the ‘performance.’

“How did you manage not to share that story with the others, R?” asked E.

Grantaire feigned his best wounded look, put his hand over his heart and said incredulously “Petit moi? Mais non!”

Then, more seriously, “Honestly Apollo, it felt really special to me knowing something about you that none of the others knew. I just tucked it away and thought about it sometimes when I needed to feel close to you. Does that even make sense? It sounds kinda stupid now when I say it.”

Enjolras took ‘Taire’s hand, pulled the raven haired boy closer to him and looked him deeply in the eyes. “It doesn’t sound stupid to me at all. And if I could’ve chosen anyone to share that little secret with, I’m really glad it was you.”

Grantaire smiled gratefully then leaned in to kiss his Apollo gently on the lips. Suddenly a wicked grin spread across his face and he said “But maybe one day you could do a little show for all of us, E, yeah? Maybe even wear something a bit trashy to spice it up? I bet the boys…”

The rest of the statement was cut off by a pillow that came flying at his face. Grantaire only laughed harder when he saw Enjolras’ face, flushed crimson with a little bit of fury and a whole lot of embarrassment. Grantaire couldn’t imagine any sight he would ever love more. 


	26. Love, Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with the holiday celebration and some other fluffy stuff...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited final chapter... Lots of E/R for those who rode this crazy ass roller coaster of a story with me from the beginning... You have my eternal gratitude.

 

 

Chapter 26

_6 weeks later,_ _Hôpital d'instruction des armées Percy (Percy Military Hospital), Clamart, France_

A light snow was falling outside the window of his hospital room and Enjolras seemed delighted just sitting there in the oversized chair beside his bed and watching it fall. Christmas was only a few weeks away now. Holiday decorations were everywhere and Christmas music played on the hospital’s sound system. His leg and arm were healing well but slowly and there were still metal rods protruding from the casts encasing his injured bones. They weren’t suspended in traction any longer which gave Enjolras more mobility than he had had before now and that sense of freedom, limited though it was, exhilarated him. He could stand for short periods of time, with help, leaning on a special crutch/walker device that kept all weight off his left leg and arm. He could push/drag himself along in a wheelchair (which he disliked immensely but still found preferable to being trapped in one spot.) He couldn’t get over how good it felt just to stand up, to stretch to his full 6 foot (1.83m) height again, to feel more like a man and less like a ‘patient’. Sitting there watching the snow falling and smiling he was unaware of the observer in the doorway, a dark haired, green eyed man wearing a Santa hat perched slightly lopsided atop his mop of unruly curls. Grantaire was also smiling, glad and grateful to see the love of his life enjoying a moment of contented peace.  It had been a hard year, one of the hardest any of the boys had known so far in their young lives, and they were all happy to see it coming to a close. They were looking forward to celebrating the holidays, celebrating their friendship and life, and mostly just being together again.

At length Grantaire entered the room, being sure to make enough subtle noise to alert Enjolras there was someone in the room but nothing loud enough to startle him. Grantaire had learned a lot about PTSD in these last months of Enjolras’ recovery process. Although he had never come into direct contact with an enemy combatant the IED attack on his convoy left Enjolras with many of the same symptoms and issues experienced by regular combat soldiers. Of course the traumatic brain injury, mild though it was, did nothing to help with this. Grantaire had heard other caregivers refer to people with TBI as sometimes having “I.E.D” (Intermittent Explosive Disorder.) He had experienced this with Enjolras already and although it was alarming and unsettling at first, he’d learned to ‘read’ some of the signs of an oncoming outburst. Grantaire after all did know a thing or two about unpredictable behavior and emotional outbursts. Although the source of his had been completely different, still the end result was not altogether dissimilar.

Only a handful of people knew this but since they’d come back to France from Landstuhl, Grantaire had been completely sober. He’d had his last drink at the airport in Frankfurt before he and Combeferre flew back to Paris. They left Germany the same day Enjolras was put on a military medical airlift for Paris, intending to be at Percy Hospital when he arrived there. Convincing Enjolras to allow himself to be put on that airlift had been no small feat. He’d insisted, rather fiercely in fact, that they hire a private ambulance to transport him for the 5 hour journey back to France. It was understandable that he wanted no part of another medical airlift flight. He had panicked at the mere mention of it, then had a bit of a meltdown. It was only Grantaire’s comforting embrace and Combeferre’s rational yet reassuring words that eventually changed his position on the subject.

At first Grantaire’s sobriety was somewhat unintentional. He was just so busy with Enjolras, staying by his side almost constantly, keeping loving vigil over him whilst he slept, shushing him back to sleep when the bad dreams came, and just learning how to care for his injuries, both the physical and emotional. He had managed to get away from the hospital for a bit (although it was more like Combeferre _dragging_ him away), had been to see all the boys, even made it to a Les Amis meeting at the Musain. But he wanted, needed really, to be with Enjolras. And so he was. He had only realized himself after a couple of weeks back home that he hadn’t had a drink. Being so incredibly focused (and fairly exhausted as well) had kept the worst of the detox symptoms at bay. He had attributed his own moodiness and strange dreams to being quite simply knackered. After that, there had definitely been a few ‘white knuckle’ moments, especially when Enjolras was having one of his not-so-pleasant days. But alcoholism had found a worthy opponent in Grantaire. He would not give in to drunkenness without a fight, especially not now, now that his life had such meaning and purpose, now that he had gained the one and only thing he’d ever truly desired- the love of his Apollo. So he carried on not drinking and the days turned into weeks and the weeks into a month, then another. Since old habits die hard he still carried a flask but it was filled only with tea. If he made it to a party, he carried a bottle of Didier Goubet Merlot, a high quality non-alcoholic wine. Only Combeferre and Enjolras knew for sure that their resident sot had become a teetotaler. If the others suspected, they didn’t let on.

Grantaire surprised Enjolras by getting special dispensation to take him home for a while on Christmas day, long enough to celebrate with the boys at the Musain. None of their flats would accommodate a wheelchair so the holiday gathering would be at the Café so their fearless leader could attend. For this occasion Grantaire (with help from the other Amis) did hire a private ambulance and the services of an attendant to help him move Enjolras about safely and gingerly so as not to disturb his still healing injuries. It was a small price to pay for having their leader with them again, even if just for a few hours. Everyone turned up for the party; Eponine brought Azelma and Gavroche (who got a bit of a talking to from Enjolras). Joly and Bossuet came with ‘Chetta.  Feuilly and Bahorel were thrilled to see Enjolras but were told firmly by Grantaire that they couldn’t manhandle him as they tended somewhat frequently to get over exuberant with their physical affections. Marius and Cosette sat talking quietly together with Enjolras while Courf and Jehan were the life of the party, flitting about like the social butterflies they always were. It was a warm and wonderful celebration filled with food and gifts, love and friendship, and a profound sense of gratitude for each other and for the life that had been restored to them.  

Settled back onto his pillows later that night in the hospital, Enjolras smiled a tired smile at Grantaire and reached for his hand.

“I have something for you”, he said quietly. “I didn’t want to give it to you at the party.”

He reached into the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box.

“I hope you like it” he said softly as he placed the tiny package in Grantaire’s hands.

Grantaire held the gift for a moment, looking quizzically at his boyfriend who was smiling broadly, obviously quite pleased with himself for pulling off this little surprise.

“And just when did you sneak out to go shopping?” quipped Grantaire, smiling back at him.

“Oh, I still have my ways of getting things done!” Enjolras responded, an air of mystery in his voice.

Grantaire unwrapped the box and opened it slowly. Inside were two necklaces, each silver chain bearing a jagged half heart with part of an inscription. Enjolras watched as Grantaire put them together. He saw the tears glistening in his boyfriend’s eyes as he recognized the words formed when the heart was complete: “You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.” His tears fell silently as he put one of the chains around his own neck, then reached over to place the other one on Enjolras, pulling him as tightly as he could into a loving embrace.

Pressing their foreheads lightly together, Grantaire whispered “Thank you. Thank you so much. Do you have any idea how much this means to me? Or how very much I love you?”

Enjolras kissed him gently on the lips, answered “I’m so glad you like it. I hoped you would remember it from the drawing you gave me. I loved that drawing so much, R. I kept it with me everywhere. I was so glad when they found it still with my things after the accident. And yes, I think I have some idea how much you love me. You show me every day.”

“Well, in case you should ever forget or I fail to remind you as often as I should…”, he trailed off momentarily, reached into the rucksack beside him on the floor and produced a small box wrapped in simple gold foil and tied with a red ribbon.

“I didn’t want to give this to you in front of the others” he said as he placed the gift in Enjolras’ good hand.

Enjolras untied the ribbon, struggled a bit with the wrapping paper but got the job done anyway. He opened the box carefully, his eyes growing wide as he saw the gift inside. His right hand trembled a bit as he took the beautiful yet understated gold band out to examine it. On the inside, inscribed in small, elegant script was one simple word: **_Forever_**.  Enjolras own tears now spilled freely down his pale cheeks and his good hand, still clutching the ring, trembled even harder.

“Here, let me, please?” Grantaire whispered, taking the ring and then gently extending E’s fingers out toward himself. “If you ever forget how long I have promised to be yours, or how long my heart, my soul and all my love will belong to you, this will be your reminder.”

And with that he kissed his love softly on the lips and slipped the promise ring, perfectly sized, onto Enjolras’ right ring finger. In this moment Grantaire knew, in the fullness of his heart and with no trace of doubt that there would be a day, sooner than later he hoped, when he would make this declaration of love again, with all their friends gathered as witnesses, and place a different kind of ring on the other hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> As always positive feedback and comments are welcome, encouraged, invited, and otherwise generally begged for... The more encouragement I get, the faster this thing will get written. So please enjoy reading and I hope you find it to your liking.


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